


We'll go down in history

by guardiansofthefantasy



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Fake/Pretend Friendship, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Not all conflicts are resolved, Pining, Red White & Royal Blue AU, kind of slow burn but also not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardiansofthefantasy/pseuds/guardiansofthefantasy
Summary: Prince of the United Kingdom, Baz, and First Son of the United States, Simon, aren't the friends they have to pretend to be for the public after an international disaster. But with time, social media and a lot of texts they actually grow to become something like friends.Until Baz discovers an old secret that puts their newfound friendship and the British-American relations to the test.(A Red, White & Royal Blue AU)





	1. Baz ruins a wedding with champagne

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Those of you who are fans of both Red, White and Royal Blue and Carry On may already know of another fic with this AU: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892191/chapters/47115382  
When I found out about it in the middle of writing, I panicked a little, because it's the same idea and I had already spent a lot of time on this one.  
Anyways, a few people told me that it's okay to finish mine anyway because there can't be enough fics with the same premise. (And that's probably true, there are a lot of soulmate snowbaz fics and they're all unique and wonderful.)
> 
> I have not read annabellelux' fic, because I wanted to finish writing mine first and not subconsciously copy something. All similarities are therefore purely coincidental or because we both base our fics on the same books.  
If you want to read more of this AU but a little different, you should check out their fic as well! 
> 
> And now to the obligatory spoiler warning:  
This story contains spoilers for Carry On (duh) and Red, White and Royal Blue. (Even though I'm trying not to go too much with the book storyline, especially the beginning will be similar. And better safe than sorry!)
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this fic, it's new for me to write long, multi-chaptered fics and it was quite a challenge.  
Title is take from the song Centuries by Fall Out Boy  
Enjoy!

“And who’s this?” 

Baz looks up and raises an eyebrow. “Why, that’s  _ really _ easy. Abigail, Countess of Wessex.” 

Fiona nods. “Okay. Well, I assume you’re prepared enough.” 

She watches him and Baz puts down the program when he notices. “What else?” 

“Are you alright?,” she asks and Baz sighs.

“Of course. It’s just a wedding.”

His aunt and equerry watches him for a moment longer and then she gets up from the couch. “Okay, then. Seems like you nailed all the names.” 

Fiona isn’t technically a member of the royal family, since her sister just married into it. She stayed with Baz as his equerry to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s okay. Fiona is the only member of the royal family who cares about Baz as much as his mother did and not just because he’s the heir. 

His father being the son of the Queen of England, makes Baz a soon to be King as well. No one really sees past that.

His full title and name would be: 

His Royal Highness Prince Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch of Wales. 

It’s his father’s wedding (it’s technically his second wedding, since Baz’ mother died eleven years ago, when Baz was just ten.) and as part of the royal family, he has to attend. He doesn’t mind too much. He actually likes dressing up special for some occasions - it’s quite fun. The photographers aren’t as much, but he has become extraordinarily good at flashing a smile or looking pretty without effort. It’s a long trained profession and he’s been practising since he was little. Although he didn’t understand it as well back then. 

  
  
  


So, Baz is looking effortlessly pretty when he attends the wedding. After sitting through hours of church, he’s glad to be finally able to stand and eat. (And dance, technically, but so far he hasn’t seen anyone interesting enough to dance with.) 

He quietly talks to his security, although he’s not supposed to. But he doesn’t want to stand around not doing anything. 

He watches the other guests, sitting at their tables, caught up in their own and alcohol-influenced conversations. He watches the ones who are already dancing, royals and celebrities, friends and family. 

And then his eyes find Simon Snow Salisbury, son of the President. First Son of the United States. An absolute idiot. 

He’s sitting with Penelope Bunce, one of his American friends. Baz respects her more, she’s very smart and said to be rather brave. That’s why he tells one of his bodyguards to go and ask her if she’d like to dance with him.

Snow’s face is a delight when he stares back at Baz. He just absolutely hates Baz for asking. It seems like she agreed to, because his bodyguard gives him a nod and Baz approaches their table.

Like a true gentleman, he offers her his arm and guides her onto the dance floor. She’s smiling politely and maybe a little amused as well. 

“What an honour,” she says, all polite and smiling, still. “I didn’t expect you to ask me to dance today.” 

He smiles back a little. It’s his photo smile. “How could I have waited here without asking, when it appears that no one else would ask someone as beautiful as you to dance tonight? It would have been a shame.” 

She chuckles quietly. “Quite the charmer, I see.” Penelope doesn’t seem to mind it though.

Baz smiles, not mentioning that she shouldn't get up her hopes. (Not that he assumes she'd be interested in him in the first place.) 

He watches Snow over her shoulder when the dance allows it and he notices that Snow is both glaring at him for it and emptying a glass of champagne. Baz will politely assume it's his first one. Not that he cares. He doesn't. 

Snow is annoying like no one else, constantly approaching him and provoking him. So far, Baz has managed to deal with it the way he always deals with uncomfortable situations: polite and indifferent. It drives Snow mad. 

They dance in silence, because Baz didn’t reply to her and she didn’t make an effort to pick up another conversation. To his absolute surprise, it’s not an uncomfortable silence with Penelope. It feels right, like they understand each other without words. 

If he has to marry a woman, it would probably be her. Just to spite Snow. And because her company is quite enjoyable. 

The next time Baz glances over to Snow’s table, Snow isn’t there anymore. A moment later, he catches him dancing with the heiress of Sweden. (Baz knows her name, he learned it amongst so many others as preparation, but now he doesn’t seem to be able to recall it.) 

Baz very pointedly makes a show of not caring about it. Because he doesn’t. It’s Snow’s business alone, with whom he dances. And Baz is very certainly not jealous. What a thought. Absolutely insane. Why would he be jealous of the First Son of the United States? (Except he isn’t, and he’s jealous of the Swedish heiress, which is  _ worse _ . Baz decides to no longer think about it, or Snow.)

Baz retreats to the buffet and takes a glass of champagne. He’s not going to get drunk, first because this is an official event and the press is everywhere and second because he doesn’t even like getting drunk. He sips his drink slowly, watching the people. It could surely be interesting, if only his eyes didn’t always turn back to Snow. 

It’s incredibly annoying. He takes another sip, and the next moment, Snow is approaching him. Fantastic, Baz thinks. 

“You know, when you have a buffet like this, you should at least offer  _ sandwiches, _ ” Snow says and glares down at the table on the lower level behind Baz, as if it personally offended him.” 

“Snow,” Baz says, giving him a nod. “I don’t think sandwiches are a traditional part of the royal wedding buffet.” 

Snow frowns. “Yeah, no. I can see that. It’s stupid, really. I hoped there would be sandwiches. England just can’t do it right.”

“Excuse me?” Baz stares at him as Snow tries to rest his arm on Baz shoulder, which isn’t easy for him to achieve, because Baz is at least three inches taller. “Do you mind?”

Snow ignores him and shrugs. “I’m just saying, monarchy? C’mon, that’s really outdated.” 

Baz is quite too surprised to reply anything. Snow really doesn’t seem to realise he’s at a  _ royal  _ wedding, does he?

“I mean, look at all this pretend bullshit.” Snow waves around with his hand and it takes Baz a lot of self-control not to take it and stop him from swatting it around like a madman. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

The truth is, Baz has been tired of it for years. But it’s not like he can just run away and do something else. Sure, he studied and he could probably live fine somewhere without having to work ever again. 

But the thing is that he can’t  _ actually _ do that. He’s the heir of the crown and the firstborn son and he’s expected to marry a nice woman and have children, and then to someday become the King of England and rule. 

The problem with all of this and Baz is: He absolutely doesn’t want to do any of it. 

He dreads the day of his wedding more than any birthday, more than the anniversary of his mother’s death, and that’s pretty much the worst day in the year.

“I… am a little bit more complex than that. You can’t just generally say that.” 

Snow looks at him unimpressed and then he very dryly says: “ _ Ha _ .”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Baz shrugs, because he doesn’t and because Snow is very clearly drunk and he doesn’t have the nerve to deal with it. 

“Because you think you’re oh-so-smart,” Snow replies, quicker than Baz would’ve expected from a drunk person. 

“No, because you’re very drunk.” 

“Oh, does that make you uncomfortable? I’m  _ sorry,  _ Your Royal Highness.” 

Baz can’t decide what offends the crown (which means, himself) more, the mocking tone of Snow’s sorry or the sarcastic use of  _ Your Royal Highness. _

As to not start any turmoil, he decides that all hope is lost in this case and turns away from Snow.

“Hey,” Snow makes and Baz stops. “It must be weird for you, that I’m not as invested in your life and you as everyone else is.” There’s this challenging tone again and Baz knows better than to react to it. 

Except that his mouth makes that decision without him and he hears himself saying: “Actually—you know what? I think you are.” 

It’s worth it though, the look of offended surprise on Snow’s face.

“Have you not noticed how it’s always you seeking me out? And everytime we met, I’ve been extraordinarily civil and polite, while you… weren’t as much,” Baz goes on.

At the dawn of realisation, Snow opens his mouth to shoot back, then closes it again because he doesn’t have a smart answer. 

Baz allows himself a little smirk, then he turns around at last to finally walk away from Snow. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Snow grabs his elbow and Baz spins around again, almost pushing him away. He catches himself and instead shoves Snow away from him a bit gentler.

Snow stumbles, reaching out again and grasping Baz’ sleeve and pulling him in. They tumble and fall down from the higher step, feeling as if it’s in slow motion. 

Baz realises with horror just  _ where  _ they’re falling, when they crash into one of the buffet tables and the content from the champagne fountain spills over the laminate flooring.

Who decided they needed a champagne fountain, anyway? Baz certainly won’t have one at his wedding.    
At least not the wedding cake, he thinks, while he’s lying there in his misery, clothes soaked in champagne. And at least Snow is just as soaked and it technically wasn’t his fault alone. 

Still, Baz doesn’t move. He tries to collect himself and steadies his breath. Next to him, he can hear a camera go off and Snow breathe flatly.

Then, a quiet hiss: “You pushed me down the stairs!” 


	2. Simon has to put up with questionable damage control

Simon stares at his hands. 

“That’s a total disaster,” his father says and buries his face in his hands, exasperated. “This is just - how could you let this happen?”

“Davy,” Lucy interrupts him softly, “I will discuss this.”

“I just do not understand,” David continues, “how could you let yourself get drunk enough to bring such shame upon our family.” He gestures over the table, filled with a bunch of different magazines, all of them having one thing in common: The total royal wedding disaster.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Simon tries.

His father stares at him and then he throws his hands in the air. “And I’m supposed to believe that? I don’t care whose fault it was, and neither does the public! Fact is, you tried to start the next British-American War!”

“I did not,” Simon mumbles.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I did not,” Simon repeats, louder this time. He keeps his eyes focused on his hands and the corner of the British tabloid  _ The Sun. _ He wonders how it got here this fast.

He lets his eyes travel along the edge of the cover, locking eyes with photo-Baz. If it didn’t include himself, he’d probably find the whole thing hilarious. It was kind of worth it, just to see Baz all messed up and on the floor, soaked in champagne, his hair either wet or greasy (you never know with him) and completely messy. Baz would definitely look better with messy hair, but as a prince he’s probably not allowed to wear it that way. 

“Davy. I will discuss this matter with my son and Ebb. You may leave,” Lucy says firmly. 

David doesn’t move. “I would prefer to stay.”

_ “Presidential orders.”  _

Simon is pretty sure that his mother is misusing her presidential permissions for often sending his father out like this. Frankly, he doesn’t quite care. It’s always better to just talk to his mom and Ebb alone. 

He looks up from  _ The Sun _ and meets his mother’s eyes. They consider him strictly but with the softness he only knows from her and Ebb. 

“I assume you are aware of the difficult situation you put us in,” Lucy starts.

“He pushed me down the stairs!,” Simon defends himself, more confident now with his father gone. 

“I heard,” Lucy sighs. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, except for my honour.”

“Well, we don’t have time to pity your honour, since the international relationships require maintenance. Ebb will go over the details with you. I’m afraid I have to attend another meeting now.” Lucy gets up and gathers her files. When she passes him, she ruffles his curls and kisses his cheek. “I will see you for dinner.”

Simon sighs and eyes Ebb warily. She gives him one of her rare smiles and pushes a folder over to him.

“We have a very simple plan for the two of you. To get this back in order, you’ll pretend to be Basilton’s best friend, and you have been since you met.”

“What, are you kidding? That’s not possible!”

“I don’t care if you think it’s possible or not, you play along for the sake of your mother.” 

Simon remains silent. Maybe it’s best not to discuss this. 

“Let’s get specific. To make up for this, you’ll be visiting Basilton next weekend and you’ll show the world what great friends you are. This trip includes official interviews, charity events and obviously social media posts.” 

She nods to the folder. “There it’s written down, in case you zoned out.” 

Simon opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. Ebb doesn’t mean to be cruel, he’s not necessarily the most attentive listener. He opens the folder and is greeted by a piece of paper, stating everything that has to be done on that weekend. 

Simon knows they’re usually written more official, but Ebb simplified it for him. He’s grateful for it, even though he doesn’t say it. 

_ Saturday: _

_ 3pm GMT: arrival at the airport _

_ 4pm: picking up HRH B. from football practice. Official greeting incl. royal photographer _

_ 5pm: arrival at Kensington Palace _

_ 6pm: dinner  _

_ Sunday: _

_ 10am: interview with  _ This Morning  _ lasting 5 minutes (live!) _

_ 1pm: charity event at the royal hospital, photographers present _

_ 5pm: departure airport london _

_ 9pm EST: arrival in washington _

_ at least 2 social media posts per day about your visit to England! _

“And… I can’t just… opt out?,” Simon asks after reading it carefully. 

Ebb looks at him gently, but firmly. “No. No excuses. You will visit England and spend a weekend with your close personal friend for many years.”

“Is that what we are, now? Close personal friends?” Simon frowns. “That just sounds horrible.”

“You fell into the champagne fountain, not me. You’ll have to bear the consequences–”

“He  _ pushed _ me!”

“–besides, I’ll accompany you. It will be no fun for me either. At this point in your life, I did expect you to get along without a babysitter.”

_ “Hey!” _

Ebb does not have mercy for Simon or his hurt pride. “We will leave at 2am on Saturday, so make sure to be punctual. If we’re delayed because you don’t want to go, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Simon considers it. He hates it, and it sucks a lot, but it’s for his mom and for the international peace. Plus, he gets a free trip to England and can explore the Kensington Palace like no other tourist can. He assumes that is a pro.

Obviously, meeting Baz again and having to pretend to be his friend is pretty much the opposite of fun and he doesn’t like it. 

“This is what you’ll have to learn and memorise. We don’t want people to figure out that you have absolutely no idea about the Prince of England.”

Ebb pushes another file over to him and Simon frowns at it.  _ HRH Basilton Prince of Wales Fact Sheet _ .

“Uh… does he get one of these for me?”

“Yes, and for the record, making that was one of the most depressing moments of my career.” 

Simon skims it and grimaces. “What sane person has  _ tennis  _ as a hobby?”

“Stop complaining and memorise this. You’re dismissed.” 

Ebb is probably the only person who could say  _ You’re dismissed  _ and not mean it like that at all. Simon smiles weakly.

“I won’t have fun.”

“God, I hope not. It’s not for your amusement.” Then she glances at him with something that could almost be considered a smile and Simon collects the papers and leaves her alone. 

  
  


He finds Penny in his room and doesn’t even ask how she got there. She’s sitting on the floor, laptop on her legs and typing frantically. 

“Today’s the worst,” Simon groans instead of a greeting.

“You said the same thing on the day of the wedding. What happened now?” Penny doesn’t even look up and Simon throws himself onto his couch. The door slowly falls shut and he throws an arm over his face. 

Simon waits and then finally, Penny looks up and sighs. “Fine. What happened?”

He sits up and throws the folder on the floor. “I have to go to England next weekend. Damage control.”

Penny gives him a half-sympathetic smile. “Meeting the Prince?”

_ “Yes. _ It’s the absolute worst! Apparently, I’m his  _ close personal friend for years.  _ Who even thinks of that? I hate him! I’ll never be able to act like we’re friends.” 

He looks back at her. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just ranting.” She grins a little and Simon feels like he’s missing something. Of course he’s ranting. This is an absolute catastrophe!

“So?,” he demands, but Penny doesn't offer an answer. Simon breathes out slowly and suffering and opens the fact sheet. 

The single loose paper falls down into his face and he groans. This is absolutely horrible and he hates all of it. 

“His dog is called Fred.” 

Penny shrugs. “So? It's a common name in England.”

“For a dog?!” Simon sits up and the papers fly into the air, slowly settling down on the couch. 

“Oh, well, I suppose that's quite unusual.”

“No, that's the absolute worst name anyone has ever given their dog. I feel so sorry for his dog.”

Penny looks up and their eyes meet. “What else does it say? More horrendous facts about the Prince of England?”

“Listen,” Simon starts and collects the papers. “Hobbies: tennis and football. I assume it refers to soccer and not actual football, which is actually quite disappointing. Imagine if he played football. He’d look ridiculous.” Simon snickers and Penny turns back to her laptop.

“Soccer sounds like a reasonable hobby for boys your age.” 

Simon sputters and stares at her. “Have you ever seen me play soccer? It’s boring! It’s totally  _ posh. _ ”

She gives him a grin. “Is it, now?”

He decides to ignore her and goes on. “Favourite movie: Pride and Prejudice. I haven't seen it, is it good?”

“Personally, I quite like it, but it’s maybe not your kind of movie.” 

Simon rolls his eyes. “Okay, this is boring. Baz is exactly as boring as I thought. Shame. That's gonna be the absolute worst weekend of my entire life.”

Penny reaches over. “Give me the fact sheet. I'll quiz you.”

Simon groans but hands it over. “Trust me. It'll ruin you. He's like the cardboard cutout of a person. Fucking flat.”

He leans against the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Go ahead.”

“Alright, proper way to address him?”

“His Royal Highness Prince Basilton. Grimm-Pitch. But since I'm his best friend I suppose I'll be allowed to just say Baz, don't you think?”

“You think he won't immediately kill you for that?,” Penny asks a bit amused and Simon rolls his eyes.

“Well, no one can blame it on me if the Prince kills me. Do you think he'll have to go to court or something?”

“For murder? Yes.”

“But he's the Prince. They could probably pay some money and he'd be free again.”

“I don't think that's legal,” Penny says, but Simon isn't too sure about that. He is however sure that as the Prince Baz could do pretty much anything he wants.

“Okay, age?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Names and ages of his siblings?”

“Mordelia, sixteen, Leona and Annabeth, both nine.” 

“Parents?”

Simon sighs dramatically. “Natasha, deceased and Egyptian. Father is Malcolm, heir to the crown and son of Queen Mary. His wife and Baz’ stepmother and mother of his siblings, Daphne. They got married a few days ago. And then there's his aunt Fiona, sister of Natasha who's his equerry now?”

Penny nods. “Correct. I think you know him rather well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, and for the record, making that was one of the most depressing moments of my career.”  
Is a direct quote from Red, White and Royal Blue because it was just so iconic, how could I not use it.


	3. Simon finds out that Baz isn't a cardboard cutout of a person

Simon isn't a fan of flying those long distances to England. He doesn't hate flying, not at all, but he doesn't love being stuck on a plane for hours either. Private plane or not.

It's more boring now, without Penny. Ebb is asleep in the seat across from him and Simon can't seem to do the same. 

He flips through some magazines, reads over his college assignments a few times and realises that it doesn’t help him understand them better. Then he tries to memorise the weekend schedule but gets bored when he doesn’t manage to remember anything after the arrival at the palace. And is it a royal dinner with the Queen or will he be left alone and in peace? Why did no one inform him of such important details?

The worst thing about flying to England is that there’s nothing to see except clouds and sometimes the atlantic ocean. (Or is it the pacific? No, he’s pretty sure it’s the atlantic.) Whatever it is, it’s too big and too deep and it takes way too long to pass it. 

Simon doesn’t know what to expect from arriving either. He is only certain that a whole weekend with Baz won’t be fun. At all. 

Oh, how wrong he was about that. 

Baz’ equerry and aunt Fiona picks them up from the airport. It’s more of a “My name is Fiona, get into the car, here are some papers you have to sign” than a greeting and introduction. 

Simon frowns at the papers, trying to make sense of all the letters and words. Sometimes he wishes he was better at it. 

“It’s the nondisclosure agreement. They’ve been approved by your lawyers.” She turns back from the front seat and hands him a pen. Simon takes it. It lies heavy in his hand and is probably worth a thousand dollars. Or, well, pounds, since this is England. 

Simon has dealt with nondisclosure agreements before, so he flips through the pages and signs everywhere he’s supposed to. (Fiona marked the lines with little red “x”s and Simon wonders if Ebb suggested that.)

He looks out of the window when they’re driving, acknowledging the beauty of London yet again. It’s not comparable to Washington D.C. of course, but he’s probably biased. 

He takes out his phone to snap a blurry picture of the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf and uploads it to Instagram, adding a vague caption about how he arrived in London and is excited to be on his way to pick up the Prince. That would be one out of two posts for today.

“Here we are.” Fiona considers him with a short glance. “There are royal photographers. Now get out of the car and get ready to greet His Royal Highness.” 

Simon nods perplexed and climbs out. He sees the green soccer, no,  _ football _ field and slowly walks closer. He isn’t looking forward to greeting a sweating and stinking Prince right after his practice. 

Simon watches the field, looking for Baz. He heard the Prince is a good player and he wonders if it’s true. 

He can’t find him. 

Maybe Baz was worried about Simon showing up to his practice and didn’t go. Or he’s hiding somewhere. Simon desperately hopes for it, just so he can postpone their meeting a little longer. 

“Ah, I see you’re already waiting for me.” Simon whirls around, and is met with Baz’ grey eyes. (Technically, he’s staring right at his lips, because of that stupid height difference, but Simon’s eyes immediately shoot up to Baz’ eyes.) 

“As you should,” Baz adds with an evil little smile and honestly, how can one person be so arrogant and egocentric? 

Simon grits his teeth and then he puts on his best  _ “I-despise-you-but-as-the-First-Son-of-America-I-have-to-be-polite” _ -smile. 

“Your Royal Highness, Prince Tyrannus,” he greets, in a mocking tone and Baz frowns ever so slightly.

“As my long best friend, you shall call me Baz,  _ Simon. _ ” He holds out his hand. “They will take a picture.” 

Simon smiles falsely and takes his hand. “Well, then pretend to like me, Baz.” 

  
  


Just when Simon thinks nothing could be more awkward than staring at Baz, both of them wearing a fake smile as their hands are joined in a handshake that takes just a few seconds too long and cameras flashing around them, he is sitting next to him in the car with dimmed windows. 

They’re not talking because they’re not actually friends and Baz isn’t talking to his aunt either, so the car is quiet. It’s one of the most straining silences Simon has ever experienced and he just waits for the car ride to be over as soon as possible. 

When they do arrive at Kensington Palace, Baz is gone before Simon can say anything. He’s guided to his rooms by Fiona, who also gives him brief explanations. Simon feels like she doesn’t quite like him. 

Simon has around an hour left to get ready for dinner and he’s suddenly really glad that he asked Fiona who he’ll be eating with—even though she looked at him like he was stupid. (He’s  _ not  _ stupid.) 

He changes into another formal outfit, even though he only eats with Baz. He assumes Baz will look super stylish for the dinner and Simon doesn’t want to be underdressed.

Simon is definitely not the one being underdressed. Baz however—Baz is wearing a rather nice jeans (which is definitely not formal, but looks good on him nevertheless) and a simple plain button-up shirt. He’s wearing something so simple for a Prince and something so similar to Simon’s usual style, he wonders if it’s on purpose. 

“And I was worried we’d be matching,” Baz comments and doesn’t spare Simon’s (rather expensive, mind you) suit more than a glance. 

Simon glares for a moment, but then he’s distracted by the food. 

“This is all just for us?”

“Yes. Don’t be an ass about it, I know it’s not easy to get good food in the colonies.” Baz sits down and unfolds his napkin.

Simon can’t help but stare, until Baz glares at him and he sits down as well. He doesn’t even have a nice comeback to the comment and when he does start eating he decides that no comeback is needed, because unfortunately, Baz was  _ right.  _ This is excellent food. Part of him is jealous that Baz eats this every day. 

“Oh, wait.” Simon grins and takes a picture of the table and Baz’ hands. “For the ‘gram.” 

Baz frowns at him over his wine glass, but Simon just grins and reads out as he types in the caption.

“Private dinner with HRH Baz, #brodate.” 

“You did not tag it  _ bro-date. _ ”

“Uh-huh, I did. And share… there.” 

Baz shakes his head. “That is… unbelievable. Bro-date is quite possibly one of the straightest things I’ve ever heard of.”

Simon grins at him. “But you have heard of it. Not all is lost for you yet.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Then beg.”

“Snow! You can’t talk like this to the Prince,” Baz says, putting a hand on his heart. “I’m offended.”

“I can talk like this to you because officially you’re my best friend so I’ll treat you as that.” 

“Man, being your friend must suck.” 

Simon throws a leaf of salad at him, but it slowly sinks down onto the pudding instead. 

They look at each other and then back at the pudding and Baz shakes his head a little. “Americans have no manners.”

Simon does not quite remember how they ended up like this, Baz sprawled out on the couch of the room while Simon is still eating scones.

Baz lets out a dry laugh and Simon looks over to him. “What’s so funny?” 

He shakes his head and Simon can see that he’s holding his phone. “You are. ‘Edit’,” he starts reading out, “‘sour cherry scones with butter are my new fav food. Can’t believe England withhold this from us.’” Baz puts his phone aside and frowns at Simon. “You’re having too much butter with your scone.”

“What do you mean? This is just the right amount of butter!”

“It’s way too much– do you even taste the scone anymore?”

“Listen, I would eat the butter without the scone if it was socially acceptable.” 

“There’s a good reason it isn’t, because butter is disgusting.” Simon hits Baz’ head with a cherry. “That’s an attack on the crown. I can throw you into the dungeon for that.” 

Simon laughs and takes a huge bite of his scone, barely hearing Baz mutter a mocking “Disgusting.” 

It’s weird to lie in the bed in Kensington Palace. It’s too big and there are too many covers. Simon already threw some of them to the end of the bed because it’s too warm. 

He opens the window and just stares at the dark gardens for a while. It has gotten dark rather early and fast, but Simon supposes it has something to do with the fact that it will soon be winter and London is farther north than Washington D.C.

He takes a deep breath, or sighs, and then he turns around and makes his way to the little kitchen. Maybe there’ll be some more scones? He might need them. Simon isn’t sure if he will be able to sleep tonight. He should probably be tired with the whole time zone changing and eight-hour flight, but he only finds himself restless. 

And maybe he’s too nervous because of the next day. That must be it, as well. 

It’s just two things, the interview and the charity event, and the interview only lasts five minutes, but still. It’s another day spent entirely with Baz and Simon doesn’t know if he’ll have the needed patience for it.

He rummages through the cupboards and the fridge, but doesn’t find any scones. Now that’s just too bad. 

“Why are you awake?”

Simon flinches and hits his head at the cupboard. He turns around, rubbing the back of his head and freezes.

Because Baz is there, staring right back at him, in plaid pyjama pants and a worn-out Queen T-Shirt. (The band. Not his grandmother.) 

“What are you doing here?,” Simon asks back, because he feels like that’s the more important question. Baz’ rooms are… quite far away actually. Did he walk all this way—barefoot—just to see Simon? 

It can’t be– because how should Baz have known Simon would be awake and in the kitchen?

“You’re trying to steal my food,” Simon concludes and crosses his arms. “Is that your standard procedure when you have guests?”

“I’m not trying to steal  _ all  _ your food,” Baz snarks, as if that makes it any better. “I just knew they’d have you stocked up.” 

He makes his way towards the fridge and Simon raises a hand against Baz’ chest to stop him. Baz doesn’t stop, though, and just continues walking, which leads to Simon being pushed away a little and his hand lingering on the face of Freddie Mercury for a moment too long. Baz doesn’t seem to mind.

He’s smirking and going through Simon’s fridge as if that’s normal and totally not awkward and impolite. 

Simon can’t do anything but stand and watch as Baz pulls out food and puts it back. He makes an indignant sound of protest when Baz grabs the pudding and the Prince raises an eyebrow at him.

“Didn’t know you’re a fan of English pudding, Snow.” He puts it aside, as if he’s expecting Simon to eat it, which is just ridiculous. Simon will eat it in the morning.

“What are you even looking for?,” Simon asks impatiently, because his feet are cold and he wants to go back to bed. 

“Food. Some chocolate maybe.” Baz closes the fridge and turns to the cupboard. “Crisps.”

“You mean chips?”

“I mean what I said. Ah. Good that they stocked you up.” Baz smiles pleased and Simon frowns at the bag of chips he chose. It takes him a moment to read what it says. Salt and vinegar crisps. Who even eats those?

Baz must’ve noticed his face, because he smirks and opens the bag, grabbing a handful. “Do you want some?” He holds the bag into Simon’s face and Simon takes a step back, crunching up his nose.

“No. Thanks.”

Baz shrugs and chews on his chips and Simon doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he just watches him.

Which is kind of weird and awkward. So instead he puts the pudding back into the fridge and watches Baz from there. 

It’s funny, how different he looks here in the kitchen. With his hair tousled and not slicked back as usual. And in those ridiculous red pyjama pants. Simon wonders how long Baz has had that T-Shirt, too, and he’s surprised Baz would listen to music like Queen. His fact sheet stated his favourite song to be Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7. 

“What are you staring at, Snow? Pretend friend or not, staring is impolite.”

Simon bites his lip, trying to think of a good comeback.

“Good night,” Baz says. “I’ll keep these.” He turns to the door with his stupid, disgusting chips. 

“Good night,” Simon replies after a while, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and he’s kind of glad that Baz is leaving.

Even though things felt different. He feels a little bit… honoured, maybe, that Baz showed himself so vulnerable and  _ normal.  _ Although Baz technically didn’t want to meet Simon this late at night.

But it has happened, and as Simon is lying in bed again, trying to sleep, he can’t stop thinking about how much better and less stuck up Baz would look if he allowed a few strands of his hair to fall loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we already derailing from the Red, White and Royal Blue plot?


	4. Baz finds more reasons to marry Snow

Baz really hopes Snow will mysteriously have forgotten about the incident the next morning, but by the way Snow frowns at his hair when they get into the car, it seems like Snow remembers.

It’s a shame, really, because Snow isn’t supposed to see him like he did last night. Snow is supposed to see him put together and in posh and expensive clothes, with his hair slicked back and not messy and Snow is definitely not supposed to see him in his pyjamas or eating salt and vinegar crisps. 

It would be better if Snow could just forget the last night. 

Baz tries to forget last night. It’s not easy, because Snow isn’t wearing a shirt to sleep and it was absolutely not easy to _ not _stare at him the whole time, but Snow either didn’t notice or didn’t care. The newfound knowledge burned itself into Baz’ memory though, and he really hopes he’ll be able to find a way to see freckles again without having to think of Simon Snow Salisbury.

This is going to kill him someday. And the worst part of it all is that Baz would let it.

He wonders what his mother would think of it. Would she hate him for it? And his father? If he found out, would he disown him? His aunt Fiona, would she accept it, would she accept _ him_?

Baz stares out of the window and tries to think of something else, that doesn’t fill his heart with dread and fear. 

He hears Snow flicking through papers and after a few minutes he can’t keep himself from not being curious and looks over. 

“Is that… the fact sheet?”

“No,” Snow replies, immediately and incredibly defensive. That’s a yes, then.

“Don’t you think reading that now might be a little too late?” Baz curls his lips and Snow shoots him a glare.

“I _ am _prepared, okay? I’m very prepared.” 

“Ah. I can see that.”

“Sod off,” Snow hisses and it’s really funny how defensive he gets. Baz finds himself enjoying it a lot. 

“Or what? There’s security everywhere, you know?” 

Snow stares back at the papers. “What about you?,” he asks after some silence.

“What about me?”

“Have you prepared yourself?”

Baz frowns a little. “Obviously. I think I’m an expert on the First Son of the United States.”

“Prove it.” Snow looks at him and there’s a glint of challenge in his eyes. 

“Okay?” Baz turns a bit, so he can watch him more comfortably. “How?”

“We’ll do a quiz.” Snow smirks a little, which is kind of an unusual sight, but then again, he has the face for it. It makes him look a little evil and Baz is way more into it than he’s supposed to. He’s way more into Snow in _ general_, but that’s something he pushes to the back of his mind every time it comes up. He just can’t think about it. Ever. 

“So… I assume you know my full name?”

“Simon Snow Salisbury. That one’s easy. _ Everybody _ knows your full name.” Baz smiles triumphantly. “Though I have no idea what kind of middle name _ Snow _is.”

Snow huffs indignantly. “Snow is a fine name! Don’t judge my mother’s choice.” 

He’s so sincerely offended about it that Baz rolls his eyes and decides to drop the topic instead of pushing further like he usually would. Mothers are a sensitive topic.

“Next question.” 

Snow nods shortly and tilts his head a bit. “Okay… Birthday?”

“June 21st. Next.”

“Favourite food?”

“Are you serious? That’s not a fair question.” Baz gives Snow a pout, but he just grins and waits expectantly. 

“Okay, as we learned yesterday, it’s apparently sour cherry scones. With a lot of butter.” Baz pauses to give Snow a meaningful look to remind him of their dinner the night before. “But I think the official answer according to the fact sheet is… pizza, isn’t it?“

Snow grimaces. “Yes. Based on multiple social media posts. Why do you know all of that?”

Baz smirks secretively. He’s definitely not going to tell him that he didn’t really have to learn the fact sheet because he already knew everything. Now might not be the best time to let Snow know that he’s been a little obsessed with him since they first met.

Although Baz didn’t stalk him. Totally didn’t. He just did a lot of very intense _ research _in hopes to get over that little stupid crush. (It didn’t help, of course, because why should Baz be lucky?)

  


“Are you… nervous, Snow?,” Baz asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“No. I’m not. Why should I be?” Snow tugs at his sleeves. “Are you?”

“Of course not,” Baz replies. Because even if he was, there’s no way he’d tell Snow. Especially not when Snow claims not to be nervous either.

Snow is looking especially good for the interview today. He’s wearing a simple grey button up shirt and dark jeans. Snow looks so absolutely stunning in grey, Baz notices and he really wishes Snow would stop looking that pretty. At least once in a while, to give him a break. 

Baz is wearing jeans, which he noticed Snow staring at again, when they first saw each other this morning. And he’s wearing one of his favourite shirts. It’s navy blue and has a simple golden flower pattern at the left shoulder. 

Baz wishes he could wear it more often, but the public doesn’t like it if he wears the same thing twice. It’s almost as bad as with the female stars even though they’re expected to wear even more different and varying outfits. 

He thinks it’s stupid. No one needs that many clothes. He’d be happy with a few pieces he can combine differently and that’s it. No need to buy a new suit for every occasion, but that’s just part of being celebrity-ish. 

They walk out to the interview together and Snow smiles brightly. Baz can’t tell if it’s fake or not, so that’s rather impressive. 

He puts on his own polite smile, trying to look very happy and comfortable to be here with Snow. 

The studio lights are bright and hot and Snow magically manages not to narrow his eyes against them. They sit down next to each other on the couch, smiling. They’re live. It’s showtime. 

When the five minutes are finally over, Snow still has his arm around Baz’ shoulders and is laughing at the jokes of the interviewer, while a voice in the background yells that they’re no longer live. Baz wonders, distantly, if this is Snow’s first live interview. (He knows that it’s not his first interview, because of course he’s seen all of Snow’s interviews during the phase when he tried to convince himself that he doesn’t like Snow.)

  


The charity event takes place in a children’s hospital. Baz would’ve loved it to be at a youth shelter, specifically a LGBT-youth shelter or just anything to support people like him. But he’s not supposed to make statements and if they went to a charity like that Snow and the world would suspect that it’s something more personal to him. (Which it is. He just isn’t supposed to show it. He isn’t supposed to be anything but the norm and that sucks.) 

Baz concentrates back on the children. He really needs to stop daydreaming and thinking about how tragic his life is. He can do that at night, in the safety of his bedroom—as if he doesn’t do that enough already. 

The royal photographers are following them around and Baz doesn’t even have to fake his smile this time. It comes naturally with the kids. They remind him of his own siblings, except that they’re less annoying. Probably because they _ aren’t _his actual siblings. 

And then there’s Snow, who’s an absolute sunshine and apparently not bad with kids either. 

Baz watches him interact with them, reading some kids a book. He just can’t help it, he takes out his phone and snaps a picture. 

The little girl next to him grins. “Do you want to remember that?” 

“Uh… yeah. I do. And I want to share it with the world.” Baz smiles a little, remembering that they’re supposed to post two pictures. So he opens instagram and looks at the girl. “Do you want to help me? What’s your name?” 

“Millie. What’s yours?” She smiles and Baz shows his phone to her. 

“Baz. Okay, I’ll write a caption.” He reads it out to her as he types. “‘Look at @simonsnow reading books to kids. Precious.’ Do you want to add some emojis?” He smiles at her and opens the emojis. “Here. You can choose.” 

“What does precious mean?”

“It uh… it means… a caring person. Uh… that he does morally… good things.”

“So he's nice?”

“Yes. Exactly.” Baz smiles a little. 

“So… this.” Millie smiles and tips on the blue heart. Baz swallows. A heart. Whatever, he promised her. And it’s just an emoji. It’s not the red heart. He needs to stop over interpreting it.

“Blue, huh?”

“It's my favourite colour!”

Baz laughs quietly. “Okay. Anything else?” 

She grins and adds the whale. Because it’s blue, too, Baz guesses. 

“Like this.” 

“Alright. Then you can press ‘share’ now,” Baz says. Millie does, less hesitant than Baz expected, and they high-five. She looks happy about it and at this point Baz doesn’t even care about what people will think. It’s just a blue heart and a whale. Sure, he usually doesn’t use emojis, but why shouldn’t he try it some time?

“So… you’re not bad with kids,” Snow points out as they’re slowly making their way back to the cars. Baz walks slow on purpose, he doesn’t quite want the day to end just yet. Plus, as long as the royal photographers are still present, Snow has to pretend to like him, and Baz could really get used to it. 

“Neither are you, apparently,” Baz replies casually. 

“Yeah… so… last hours, huh?” 

Baz nods a little. “I assume.”

They reach the car and slowly climb inside. 

Snow pulls out his phone and then he attempts to raise an eyebrow at Baz, as they start driving. Somehow, it’s amusing Baz. 

“What?,” he asks, because he knows it’ll piss Snow off.

“A heart?”

“Yes. The blue one. It was Millie’s favourite.”

“Ah. Okay. And that’s… all?”

“Yes? Of course. What do you think?”

“I’m thinking nothing, but everyone else might,” Snow shrugs, typing something. 

“Calm down, it’s just a heart,” Baz replies, trying to convince himself as well. It doesn’t _ matter _what the public thinks. It’s just an emoji. It’s not like he’d send Snow hearts everyday. (He totally would, if it wasn’t so weird.)

When they arrive at the palace, he knows it’s soon time to say goodbye again. Baz isn’t sure if he likes it. Hanging out with Snow was… quite fun. His presence even made the press events enjoyable… or at least passable. He doesn’t want to give Snow too much credit.

The pros are that Snow won’t annoy him in person anymore. And that he doesn’t have to see him everyday, questioning whether or not he _ likes _him. 

Baz doesn’t join Snow on the way to the airport, but he does say goodbye at the palace. Very private, without any photographers present. Snow is smiling mischievously.

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Your phone. Your royal highness. I want to exchange numbers.”

Baz raises an eyebrow to judge him but hands him his phone. So they’re exchanging numbers now. 

“Why?”

“Because obviously, if we only pretend for a weekend, people will _ know. _ So, we stay in contact. Pretend to be best friends. Meet up for more events. That stuff.” Snow hands his phone back and their fingers brush, which is just so _ ironic. _

“Yes. Good thinking,” Baz says, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “I didn’t expect you to be able to do that.”

“Rude.” Snow waves at him and walks over to the car. 

Baz looks after him, and then, after a minute, he waves back. 


	5. Simon causes sleeplessness and other embarrassing situations

Simon posts another, last picture on instagram after he boarded the plane. He took it when he got into the car, it’s a blurry picture of Baz standing on the driveway. He adds a caption, careful to make it seem like they’re friends. He would probably write something else if it was Penny, but he doesn’t know how far he can go with Baz and the public after the wedding disaster. 

_ Sad that the weekend is already over, gonna miss the cherry scones (and @hrhbasilton)  _

  
  


Simon doesn’t know what to expect from the whole thing now. He knows that Baz will have to attend the State Dinner at the White House in April, just as Simon had to visit the UK this weekend. But what else? Are they just going back to hating each other now? In private? 

Simon said it himself, they have to keep pretending, but  _ how _ ? They can’t just meet up for events whenever they want. 

And he doesn’t want to @-mention Baz in every post. What would he even write? He barely knows anything about Baz, let alone his social media presence. 

That has to change.

Simon had to follow Baz before they met up, for credibility purposes. (He already stalked Baz’ profiles every now and then, just to see what his rival was up to. It’s called ‘research’.) 

To show the world that they’re actual friends, Simon likes Baz’ rare posts and comments on them sometimes. He makes sure the comments are casual and sometimes he thinks, those aren’t really things a best friend would comment, but he doesn’t know what else to say. And it’s better than nothing.

And then there’s the public. Just minutes after he returned home on Sunday, Penny sends him screenshots from articles. It really is true that the public does a great job at highlighting their friendship. There are at least five different articles about the weekend they just spent together. 

Penny also sends him screenshots and opinions of the world’s youth. They’re are HD pictures and she sends him a link to a post that compiles a few gifs of the interview. 

Simon is surprised by how well he and Baz (especially Baz) managed to pass off as genuine friends. Some people are commenting on how good they look together and how they’re  _ relationship goals of the century.  _ Some of the articles call their friendship a  _ bromance  _ which is really exaggerated. But then again, it can only mean that they managed to pretend to be really great friends. 

  
  


_ Green doesn’t suit you _

Simon is very confused at first, because first of all, how did that random person get his number and second, how dare they insult his choice of outfit? The unknown number has attached a screenshot of Simon’s latest instagram post, a mirror selfie of himself in his green shirt, the outfit of the day for his Saturday dinner-with-friends. 

Simon is about to block the number when he hesitates. The message is dated 3am this morning. Who is awake at 3am? The little text  _ online  _ appears underneath the number. 

Who’s awake at 3am to send him a screenshot of his own post and an insult, and then stays awake until 10am? 

_ It’s HRH Prince Basilton, in case you haven’t figured _

Simon narrows his eyes. Of course. The Prince himself. And only he would introduce himself with his full title. 

_ it’s rly telling that the 1st thing u send me is an insult  _

Simon tries to calculate what time it is in the UK and if it makes sense for Baz to be awake or if it’s past his bedtime. 

_ Please don’t use abbreviations like that, I have no idea what half of the things you just texted me meant.  _

Simon can’t believe Baz texts in proper sentences, full stops and commas and all. What a jerk. It’s awfully much to read. 

_ figure it out _

Because if Baz is being a jerk, Simon can be one, too. And shouldn’t Baz be at important royal meetings or playing tennis or something posh like that? 

Simon takes his phone with him when he makes himself breakfast. (He’s not living in a palace where servants prepare his meals.) 

He settles down at the table, slowly eating his sandwich and scrolling through his phone. He has to catch up on some politics and instagram, and he’s totally not waiting for Baz to reply. What would that make him, desperate?

Simon goes to college and returns home without another message from Baz. Maybe he should be glad about not being annoyed by Baz more than already, with seeing him on the internet everywhere. It’s ridiculous how much the press focuses on the Prince. 

  
  


The next time Simon gets a message from an unknown number, he considers actually saving Baz’ number. He doesn’t want to panic every time that Prince texts him, because Simon thinks some stranger somehow got his number. So he saves him as  _ HRH Prince Jerkface  _ and leaves it at that. 

Baz sent him another insult, criticizing Simon’s clothing choices:

_ I can’t believe you’re wearing that tie with that shirt. Your second name must be “poor fashion choices.” _

_ you’re very aware that my middle name is snow  _

_ and stop insulting my outfits it’s not good for my self-esteem _

_ Your texting is still giving me migraines, poor fashion choices Snow.  _

_ then don’t read it you genius _

_ i would’ve thought you’re that smart _

It’s always the same with Baz. He sends Simon short texts during his morning, that Simon wakes up to. They exchange a few messages until Baz stops answering because he went to bed. It’s actually not that bad. Simon wakes up every morning wondering if Baz texted him and if yes, what he texted. It sort of becomes a habit for him to check his phone first thing in the morning and then not leaving it out of his reach, so he can spend as much time chatting with Baz as possible with their time difference. 

  
  


It’s 2am when Simon calls Baz’ number for the very first time. 

He was at a party with some of his college friends until late at night. It was fun, they had some drinks, music and food. He really enjoyed it.

Simon isn’t one to go to a lot of parties, but he does enjoy partying once in a while. There’s a New Year’s Eve party at the White House each year. His mother allowed him to throw it, so he can hang out with other people his age and it’s not bad for the public either. It’s kind of a State Dinner, except for the youth and minus the international politics. Simon gets to invite a bunch of people his age and the White House pays for good food and some alcohol. 

The college party was fun while it lasted. After two rounds of karaoke Simon got tired and decided to go home. He’s a bit tipsy when he steps out onto the street and the way home seems dark and dangerous alone. It’s not a very long way, maybe twenty minutes if he hurries, but he still prefers not to feel alone.

So he texted Baz and asked if he could call him, and to his surprise Baz agreed.

“Snow, how do I deserve this honour?,” Baz’ voice rings through his phone. It sounds slightly distorted, different than hearing him talk face to face. 

“Ah, you know,” Simon mumbles, looking around. Maybe he  _ is _ paranoid. 

“Isn’t it like… midnight where you are?”

“2am, yes.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping, Snow? Or are you calling from a nightmare?” Baz seriously sounds amused, and Simon doesn’t know why that’s so funny to him. If he did wake up from a nightmare, his first instinct would be to call Penny, not Baz. 

“No? I’m walking home. It’s dark,” Simon says, turning once again.

“Ah. Are you being followed?”

“I hope not.”

“Okay. So, tell me about it. Why are you walking home at 2am?”

“I was at a party,” Simon answers and decides to concentrate on walking. Baz is there, and he’s obviously trying to distract him, so Simon will let him.

“Yes? What kind of party?”

“A college party.”

“Oh, with illegal alcohol and such?” Baz sounds amused yet again, but also interested.

“Some people are twenty-one already, Baz. They can buy alcohol.”

“Right. And you wouldn’t break the rules and drink before you’re twenty-one, would you?” Simon isn’t sure, but he imagines to hear Baz smirking devilish in his room. 

“Well, actually… not quite. I think I was fifteen the first time I tried alcohol.”

“No!,” Baz says, mimicking fake shock and disbelief. “The First Son of the United States does not follow the law? When the public hears about that, Snow…”

Simon laughs a little and sighs. This is… surprisingly good. Talking to Baz. Joking with him. It reminds him of their dinner. 

“I’m quite the rebel, actually.”

“Never would’ve thought that about you,” Baz replies so very cheerfully. 

Simon laughs again, grinning brightly. “Well, I’m full of surprises, am I not? What about you? Any rebellious acts?”

Baz is quiet for a while and Simon almost fears he forgot they’re still on the phone.

“Sometimes,” Baz says with a mysterious tone, “I play the violin during night rest.”

“Really? That’s such a rebellious thing to do,” Simon laughs and tries to imagine Baz standing in his room in his pajamas and playing the violin. 

“And sometimes I sneak out at night. So far the royal guards haven’t caught me.”

Simon frowns and almost stops walking, but then he reminds himself why he’s doing this. To get home as fast as possible.

“Now,  _ that’s _ a real bad boy thing to do, Baz. Seems like the Prince thinks as much of the rules as the First Son does.” He’s smiling again and he can’t believe Baz manages to distract him from his paranoia. 

“What are you doing right now?,” Simon asks, waiting at a streetlight. The cars and busy streets even at night still seem dangerous to him. 

“Oh, it’s seven sixteen here, so I’m having breakfast in bed.”

“For real? You’re so spoiled.”

Baz laughs and then Simon hears him shuffling around.

“Yeah. For real. Do you want to know what I got?”   
“You’re just gonna make me hungry,” Simon huffs.

“Indeed. Do you wish for me to send you a picture of the scones I’m having right now?”

Simon sputters. “I can’t believe you’re that evil.” 

Baz laughs again. “Seriously, you would love them.”

“Please stop talking about your scones,” Simon begs. “They taste so much better than our American ones.”

“Well, America has always tried to improve our things but they barely manage, do they,” Baz answers and Simon can practically  _ hear  _ him grinning. 

“You mean like, when we got rid of monarchy?”

“A questionable achievement,” Baz answers and Simon can’t quite tell  _ how  _ he says it. Is it serious? Or mocking? Did Simon just insult the Crown? Maybe Baz will let him be imprisoned for that.

“An achievement nevertheless,” he decides to say. “Oh god, okay. There was this creepy man that just passed me and he looked at me, really creepy. Like, it was so creepy. I’m scared.”

“Snow, relax. I don’t think you’d really be desirable enough.”

“Wow,” Simon says dryly, “thanks. Very nice.” 

“I’m just trying to help you,” Baz defends himself. 

And strangely enough, it does help somehow. It’s… somewhat comforting. He doesn't have to worry. 

“Snow? Keep talking to me, so I know you’re not dead.”

“What am I supposed to talk about?,” Simon hisses, trying not to look back this time. He feels like the creepy man is following him. Or he’s just overreacting again. 

“Tell me why  _ Attack of the Clones  _ is listed as your favourite movie on the fact sheet.”

“Because it is! It’s great!”

“It’s the  _ Prequels _ ,” Baz snarls and Simon huffs offended.

“Yes, and they’re underrated! Ewan McGregor looks  _ really  _ good in  _ Attack of the Clones!  _ With his long hair and all!”

Baz is silent for a while then. 

“Baz?”

“I just think Mark Hamill looks better. And I like the original movies more.” 

“I should’ve expected you to be a classics nerd.”

“Simon Snow, was that an insult?”

“No. Maybe.”

“It wasn’t a good one. How far from home are you now?”

“Almost there.” Simon quietly makes his way over the grass. “I’m gonna break in now, hang on.”

“Don’t you own a key to your own house?,” Baz asks and Simon can very clearly hear him judging. 

“Let me call it however I want, okay? Gotta make my life interesting somehow.” 

Simon unlocks the door and locks it again when he’s inside. Then he sneaks down the hallways, listening to Baz turning pages.

“What are you reading?,” he asks as soon as he’s in his room.

“Gossip. You know,  _ Daily Mail, The Times, The Sun. _ Those.”

“God, you’re just like Penny. I don’t know what’s so interesting about those things.”

Baz laughs quietly. “I just like to know what my rival is up to. Not to mention what  _ I  _ am apparently up to. It’s always nice to know who you’re dating and all.” 

Simon huffs and takes off his shoes. It’s harder to take off his shirt while he’s still on the phone, so he puts Baz on speaker and lays the phone on his bed. 

“Are you home already?,” Baz asks and Simon hurries back to his bed, from where he was standing at his closet. 

“Yeah. I’m getting ready for bed right now. Hang on.” He puts his clothes on a chair and picks up the phone again. “Thanks for staying up and guiding me home.”

“You know it’s barely eight here, right?”

“Yeah. No, I forgot that. Anyways… I think I’ll sleep now.”

Baz laughs shortly. “That might be the smartest thing you said all night. Go to bed, Snow. You must look like a zombie.”

“I’m not,” Simon protests.

“Good night,” Baz says, still sounding like he’s grinning.

“Good night,” Simon echoes and then Baz hangs up on him. 

Simon settles down on his bed and slips under the covers. To prove to Baz that he absolutely doesn’t look like a zombie, he takes a selfie and sends it to him.

Baz seems to still be on his phone, because it doesn’t take him long to reply.

_ You can’t just send me pictures like that, Snow, doesn’t the NSA or FBI monitor your phones?  _

_ you have weird prejudices against america  _

_ I’m right though. We both know I am. Now go and sleep and please refrain from sending me nudes. _

_ I’m wearing pants _

_ No one asked, Snow. It’s way past your bedtime.  _


	6. Baz has another major crisis and his friend is not helping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter my favourite character yee

Snow has been killing Baz with his regular replies. It’s something to hold on to, really. Baz wakes up and can expect at least one message from Snow, mostly a reply to Baz’ last message before he went to bed. Sometimes, Snow sends pictures or texts about his afternoon and evening, what he was wearing (for Baz to criticize), what he was up to. 

Snow goes to bed a few hours before Baz wakes up, and he wakes up during noon of Baz’ day, mostly. So, technically, there are around nine hours when both of them are awake at the same time, depending on how early Snow wakes up and how late Baz goes to bed.

It’s a pain to coordinate, sometimes, and Baz has spent a lot of time calculating the time in Washington D.C. during the last days. Sometimes, he just can’t wait for Simon to finally wake up. Just so he can insult his outfit choices. Obviously. Not because he missed him, because Baz  _ does not _ miss chatting with Snow when they’re not chatting. 

A different but not less pleasing surprise is the invitation from Bunce. Penelope Bunce, the closest friend of Snow. He remembers her clearly from the wedding, she was nice and impressive. He suspects they could hold a conversation well.

Bunce invites him to the Young America New Year’s Eve Gala, which is basically just a party with a bunch of young people at the White House and a perfect excuse to see Snow again. And also a perfect excuse for more posts and highlighting that they're best friends. 

Baz is, admittedly, really looking forward to the party. Mostly, because Bunce wrote him that Snow doesn’t know he’s invited. So it’s also a chance to piss Snow off, which is one of Baz’ favourite things to do. 

Since he’s allowed to bring a plus one, he asks his dear friend Micah, who’s been spending his time in South America recently. He did miss him, even though they tried to chat as much as possible. Time zones were a problem there, too. 

Sometimes, Baz wonders how he deserves living so far away from the people he cares about. The Palace surely is nice, and having servants do the most mundane things for you is, too. 

But Baz would love to take a vacation somewhere, alone or with a few close friends, without someone cooking his food. 

It takes awfully long until New Year’s Eve is close enough for Baz to actually worry about. He has picked out a nice new suit and he can’t wait to wear it. Maybe it’ll impress some of the Americans. He assumes that it’s a bit too fancy for a party, but he also likes wearing suits and it’s a more casual one. More colourful. Maybe even more gay. 

Micah knows, of course. Micah was the first—and so far only—person he’s ever told. It went rather smoothly and Baz is very grateful for it, but Micah will also be the only person who can know. Probably forever. 

“Oh, hey! Look at that! Gorgeous!” Micah pats his shoulder and Baz grins.

“I know. That’s why I chose it.”

“Well, Simon can’t ignore you, looking like this.” 

Micah is also the only person who knows about Baz’ embarrassing crush on the First Son. Mostly because Micah has a crush on Simon’s best friend. It was kind of a mutual confession and since then, whenever they hang out together, they’d spend a good portion of their time talking about their American crushes. 

“What are you wearing?,” Baz asks, turning away from the mirror. It’s kind of the outfit-test. They’ll leave to America in a week and Baz is more nervous than he’d like to admit.

”Oh, you know. Something between casual and fancy. Don’t want to steal your show.” He grins and swipes through his pictures. “Here. That’s the jacket I’ll wear.” 

It’s obviously a jacket Micah already owns, since he’s wearing it on the picture. (It must be from his time in South America.) It’s a blazer jacket with a light plaid pattern. And it really suits Micah.

“Oh, wow. Sure you’re not going to steal the show?” Baz smirks and Micah smiles brightly.

“Thank you! My goal is to grab someone’s attention, obviously, but I don’t want to stand out too much.”

“A  _ special  _ someone, maybe?,” Baz teases, beginning to take off the suit again. He and Micah have long passed the point where they’re uncomfortable around each other while doing things like this. 

“Maybe so, yeah. And you? Will you drop some hints?” Micah settles down on Baz’ bed, tapping on his phone.

Baz grimaces. “I doubt Snow would understand it if I told him directly.”

“You underestimate him, he seems rather smart.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“Oh, you know. Your stories. Not that it matters, because you’re obviously head over heels for him.”

Baz sighs dramatically and flops down next to him. “Unfortunately. I’m suffering from it. A lot.”

“You’re not suffering.”

“I am! Look at me.” Baz throws his arms into the air and Micah laughs. 

“Destined to long for a boy you can’t have.”

“Exactly. Just the words I would’ve chosen.” 

Baz is glad to have Micah come along with him, because flying for eight hours alone would’ve been extremely boring. He really can’t wait to see what the party will be like. And he’s never seen the White House before, so that’ll be interesting as well. 

It wasn’t hard to keep it a secret from Snow—they barely talk about their lives. And if they talk about their lives at all, it’s mostly just about the current day. Other than that, it’s a lot of theories on books, movies and surprisingly, politics. They don’t talk about politics a lot, but it does happen, and it’s more fun than Baz would’ve imagined. 

They spend the flight talking and commenting on the tabloids they’re skipping through. Baz watches the landing curiously. He loves seeing how the buildings come closer and become bigger again. Plus, it’s always a nice view to see a city from above. 

They’re being picked up by a black car and a driver Baz’ doesn’t recognize. He figures it's one who didn’t come along for the weekend. 

It’s hard to see a lot as they’re driving through the city, since the windows are tinted. Micah is still trying to see as much as possible though, and his face is basically pressed against the window. Baz finds it amusing. 

He’s mostly trying not to think too much about the party this evening. Logically, he knows that Snow won’t have much time for him, which is good, but he’s still nervous. What if Snow absolutely hates him being there? What if he embarrasses himself, like he did at the wedding? 

“Baz,” Micah says, nudging him. “Stop worrying. Let’s enjoy it. Exclusive party at the White House.” 

“I hope they have good food,” Baz replies, but he’s grinning a bit.

“I do expect it. Let’s see if it’s better than the one at the Palace.” 

They have a hotel room, booked by the White House or maybe Bunce, and it’s really a nice room. It’s no five-star hotel, but a four-star one, so good enough. Baz supposes they prefer spending the money on the food and party itself rather than the hotels of their guests. They’ll barely spend time in there anyway, when the party lasts until late in the morning. 

Baz wonders how long he’ll manage to stay up. It’s 2pm in Washington and he got up eleven hours ago. He guesses he’ll have to stay awake for at least another eleven hours, and he usually has a rather regular sleeping schedule. 

Maybe he should take a midday nap.

“Let’s go sightseeing,” Micah suggests, throwing a leaflet at Baz. 

“What, now? How are you not tired yet?” 

“No idea.” Micah shrugs. “But I want to see some places, so let’s go.” 

“We’re not even going to survive half the party,” Baz grumbles into the pillow.

“Aww, c’mon. Just some sightseeing. Then we’ll get dressed and enjoy.”

“Micah,” Baz groans, “we’ve been awake for hours. Add the flight and time differences. We need a nap.”

“Maybe you do.” Baz hears Micah walking around in their room and turns onto his back. 

“I think I actually do. Do you mind if I take a nap?”

“No, go ahead, sleepy Prince.” Micah grins and picks up the leaflet. “I’ll check out some of the things here and wake you up for your shower.”

  
  


Baz wakes up with someone dripping water on his face. “Hey! Micah! What the fuck!”

He sits up abruptly and rubs his face. “Was that necessary?”

“No, of course not.” Micah grins and wraps a towel around his hair. 

“I’ll take a shower,” Baz mumbles, trying to smooth his hair down.

“Slept well?”

“Good enough. I hope I’ll survive the night.”

Micah has almost finished dressing when Baz comes out of the shower. And he looks really good.

“Are you sure you’re not going to steal my spotlight?,” Baz grins, slicking his hair back.

“Doing my best.” Micah hands him his suit. “Here. Do you need help getting dressed?” 

“I think I’ll manage.” 

A few drivers pick up all the guests in the hotel and take them to the White House. It’s rather impressive to see it up close. 

Baz isn’t really a fan of crowds, but he feels like blending in. It’s an unusual feeling for him, he usually sticks out, but he quite likes it. 

It feels like being just another young person and not the Prince of England. Maybe he’ll get to relax tonight. 

Micah is by his side, laughing and chatting with the people passing by. He’s got a glass of sparkling wine from somewhere and Baz looks around to see if he can find one for himself. 

There are a lot of people, he can’t even guess how many. He probably won’t remember a single face the next day anyway. 

And there’s Snow. Looking as gorgeous as ever. Really, Baz always thought he’d kill to see him in a suit (it looks absolutely flawless, as he knows from the wedding), but he’d never thought that Snow would be able to make a casual shirt and cuffed jeans look so great. 

Yes, Baz thinks, he’s really gay. Too bad there’s not a single chance for him to marry a man, ever. He just wishes women would look this good wearing jeans and a shirt. 

Baz drowns the glass of sparkling wine he acquired and gets himself another one. He’s not the person to get drunk, so he’s really careful to drink a lot of water tonight and try to keep control over the alcohol he  _ does  _ drink. 

Snow must’ve noticed him now, too, because his expression shifts to a rather confused or surprised one, and Baz lifts his glass to him as a greeting. It feels appropriate.

Suddenly, Micah is next to him again, handing him a plate of food, and talking about the outfit Bunce is wearing. Baz loses sight of Snow and tries the food.

It’s not better than the food at the Royal Palace, but at least it’s close. 

“Didn’t know you were coming,” Snow says, standing beside him from one moment to the next. 

“Ah. Snow,” Baz manages to reply after he swallowed his drink. He almost started coughing because Snow surprised him. “Yes. Surprise.”

“Well, I sure was surprised.” Snow laughs and Baz really cannot handle it. 

There’s such a difference between them now, compared to the last time they met. They texted almost daily, Baz feels so much closer to him now, sharing a much deeper connection. 

Or maybe he’s imagining it, because Snow pats his shoulder grinning. “Do you notice something?”

“Uh…” Baz hesitates. “What?”

“There are  _ sandwiches. _ ” Snow smiles triumphantly and Baz rolls his eyes to avoid looking at him fondly. 

“I haven’t seen any yet. Can you prove it?”

“You’re having them on your plate,” Snow deadpans and Baz looks down. He does. He must’ve been too caught up in Snow’s glow to realise.

“Fascinating.”

“Don’t Spock me.” 

Baz looks back at Snow, genuinely surprised he caught the reference. 

“Don’t look so surprised, just because Star Wars is my favourite movie doesn’t mean I don’t like Star Trek.” 

“Well, look, you actually are a person of good taste,” Baz points out, smirking. 

“Obviously. I thought you figured it out by now.” 

“Not referring to your fashion choices.” 

“Excuse me, my outfits are fine.” 

Unfortunately, for tonight Snow is right. Baz has nothing to say against his outfit. 

“Let’s go and dance,” Snow says, which seems atypical for him. He somehow let Baz’ empty plate disappear but has two glasses of some kind of alcohol in his hands instead. 

Baz wonders if Snow is drunk again. Maybe this time it won’t end with them being soaked in champagne. 

“I feel like you and I don’t have the same idea of dancing.”

“If you mean that stuck-up kind of partner dance, no. I mean  _ actual  _ dancing.” Snow laughs, which is just such a wonderful sound and it takes Baz a lot of self-control not to stare.

“Fine, but I won’t be good at it,” he warns and allows Snow to pull him along. (When did Snow grab his wrist?) 

Snow is… unexpectedly into it. It's really hot. He's not what Baz would call a good dancer, not that it's a kind of dance Baz understands anyways, but he closes his eyes and moves his body slowly to the music and it's really attractive. 

Baz watches him smiling. He's not going to survive the night with Snow acting like  _ that. _

“Why aren't you moving?,” Snow asks grinning.

“Oh, this really isn't my kind of dance.”

“Dance with me, come on. Loosen up a little.” 

“I’d rather not-"

“It's party time,” Snow’s voice whispers close to his ear now and Baz feels a shiver run up his spine. 

“Snow–”

“It's Simon. We're friends.” 

Baz turns his head a bit and is met with Snow’s bright grin. Then he feels his hands on his hips and it takes him a lot not to squirm under Snow’s touch. 

This is way too intimate. 

“Dance with me,” Snow repeats and Baz closes his eyes defeated. 

“Alright.” And to test his luck, he adds: “You show me how.”

Snow is absolutely killing him. He's moving behind him, attempting to guide Baz’ hips with his hands and it's so close—they're so close and Snow doesn't seem to bother.

Baz doesn't quite manage to loosen up, he feels hot and sweaty and Snow dancing around him closely doesn't help at all. Not even when Baz is slightly tipsy. 

Snow is, too, Baz knows by the slurred words and the sloppy movements when Snow bumps his knee into Baz leg and Baz almost stumbles. 

Then, as suddenly as he showed up, Snow is gone again and Baz feels a desperate need for fresh air. He grabs another glass of sparkling wine as he makes his way outside. 

It's peaceful. Not as quiet as he’d like. America is going absolutely crazy on fireworks. Maybe he gets a chance to think about what the hell just happened. 

Then, he hears footsteps and figures he probably won't get a chance to think about it. He empties his glass and leans back against a tree.


	7. Talking about boys after midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't tell me anything about Wayward Son! My copy hasn't arrived yet and I therefore didn't have a chance to read it yet!  
It's been a while! I apologise for that and I hope to have the next chapters coming more frequently, but I can't promise much. I have difficulties wrapping things up.
> 
> Apart from that, please enjoy!

Simon loses sight of Baz when he’s getting some drinks. He ends up somewhere nearby Penny and Baz’ plus one, Micah, (Baz’ real best friend) and he’s surrounded by other people and it’s hard to keep any specific person in sight anyways. 

There’s some slurred yelling in the distance and it takes Simon a moment to understand that they’re counting down to midnight. New Year.

He joins in cheerfully and loudly. 

When the clock strikes midnight, it’s like an explosion. Everyone is cheering and clinking glasses against glasses, wishing people a Happy New Year. 

Simon has a short view on Penny and Micah hugging and then Micah kisses her cheek and Simon can no longer see them as the gap between the people closes. 

He downs his glass and makes his way through the crowd, stopping every second for well-wishes and hugging people and New Year Gala selfies. 

It feels like hours until he reaches the end of the room and is able to slip outside into the garden. 

It’s freezing compared to inside, but after a few seconds, Simon doesn’t feel too cold anymore. The snow is soaking his shoes, but he doesn’t quite care. The sky is filled with colours from the fireworks and Simon keeps looking up to it while he wanders through the garden.

“You’re going to run into a tree,” a familiar voice sneers and Simon looks around.

“Why are you out here?”

“Freezing to get out of my misery, of course,” Baz answers and Simon walks closer.

“Did you miss midnight?”

“How, look at all that.” Baz gestures to the sky and Simon looks up again. 

“Yes. It’s beautiful.” 

“Mostly, it’s loud. I feel sorry for all the pets.”

Simon slowly manages to shift his focus back onto Baz. “And your dog?”

“He absolutely despises fireworks. And thunderstorms. Sometimes he freaks out about loud jets.” 

“Oh. And you left him alone.”

“Well, he isn’t completely alone. My sisters are there and he has enough other people taking care of him as well.” Baz shrugs, like it’s all fine, but Simon feels like he does care more than he’d like to admit.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, maybe an attempt to get Baz’ mind off the frightened dog topic for a moment, “why did you name him Fred? That’s… a rather horrible name.”

“Don’t insult Fred Weasley like this,” Baz huffs. 

“You named your dog after a fictional character?”

“No. But even if I did, it wouldn’t be as big of a deal as you’re making it right now.”

“So, you just named your dog Fred then? For no reason?”

Baz rolls his eyes. “If you must know, no. He’s named after Freddie Mercury.”

“The singer of Queen?”

“No, the tennisprofi.” Baz practically groans. “ _ Of course _ the singer of Queen.”

Simon smiles sheepishly. “Why?”

“Why what? Why I named him after Freddie Mercury?”

“Yeah. Is there… a reason for that?”

Baz hesitates and Simon thinks he looks down at himself for a moment. “Well, I obviously idolize him.”

“Obviously,” Simon echoes, because it isn’t obvious to him at all. 

He picks at the bark of the tree, absently trying to think of something else to say. He isn’t a fan of this silence, it feels uncomfortable.

“Do you sometimes wish you were invisible? Or just… a normal person?”

Simon tilts his head. “You mean… like if I wasn’t the First Son?”

“Yes. Like that. What would you do?”

“I think… maybe become a cook. Or baker. Do anything with food.” 

Baz smiles a bit. “That… actually makes sense for you. I think I’d be a musician. Violinist. Do you know Alexander Rybak? He was in Eurovision.”

Simon shakes his head smiling. “I have no idea what either of that is.” 

“We are watching Eurovision next year. This year. You’ll come over in May and we watch it.” 

Simon chuckles. “Okay?”

“Don’t be like that, it’s an important part of European culture.”

“Okay,” Simon says, still chuckling at Baz’ serious face.

“So, anyways, Alexander Rybak is a singer and violinist. He also writes his own songs, but I don’t think I could quite do that.” 

“So, you’re playing the violin.”

There’s a smirk on Baz’ face when he replies. “Did you not read the fact sheet properly?”

“It said piano!”

“I do play the piano as well, yes. I don’t quite like it as much though.” 

Simon isn’t sure what to reply, so he stays quiet and causes another uncomfortable silence.

“So… uh… have you seen the new Harry Potter movie?,” he asks after a while, “Fantastic Beasts?”

Baz’ lips twitch into something like a smile and he dips his head a little. It makes his hair fall into his face rather majestically. “Only because of Ezra Miller.” 

Simon excitedly points at Baz. “I know him! He’s worn dresses! I saw that photoshoot of him and Keiynan Lonsdale in dresses.”

Baz seems surprised, to say the very least. “Yes. You know Keiynan Lonsdale?”

“I do. He’s in  _ The Flash _ .” 

“He’s also in  _ Love, Simon _ ,” Baz points out, dragging the words out. 

“Right. You’ve seen it?”

“I have. I’ve also read the book. It means a lot to me.”

Simon frowns a little. He’s not huge on books, so he can’t quite decipher what Baz means with that. He does, however, know what it’s about. 

“Why’s that?,” he asks, because he doesn’t want to assume things.

Baz takes a sip of his alcoholic beverage. (Simon can’t recognize it as one he knows. He also hadn’t noticed that Baz is holding a glass. Maybe because Baz hasn’t moved a lot.) 

“Because I’m gay,” he says finally. 

“Oh,” Simon replies dumbfounded, “congratulations.” 

“Thanks. You don’t mind?”

“Because I’m American?”

“Wha– what does that have to do with any of this?” Baz raises an eyebrow at him and Simon shrugs helplessly.

“Why should I mind? It’s not like it impacts me.”

“Right.”

Simon starts to get curious now. “Does anyone know?” 

“Micah does. He was the first and only one I told.”

“And does it impact your life?”

“No. It can’t.” Baz swallows. “You can’t tell anyone, Snow, understood?”

“Yes, sure, but how will you ever marry?”

“I’m not your lexicon,” Baz says, sounding exasperated. “Did you understand? That it has to be a secret? It would ruin everything.”

Simon swallows. He’s heard that enough in his life. There were so many times his father had said those exact words to him.  _ It has to stay a secret, Simon. For the sake of your mother. If we talk about this, bad things would happen. It could ruin everything. _

“Yes. Understood. I will not tell.”

“Thank you.” Baz releases a breath and Simon buries his hands in his pockets.

“I should go back inside. I’m freezing.”

“Alright. Have fun.” Baz lifts his glass in a cheer and Simon cracks a smile at him before he flees back to the crowd of people. 

  
  


There are some changes to their conversations, now that Baz has come out to him. He seems to be more himself when they text. Simon can’t explain how he knows that, but he feels like it’s obvious. It just feels like Baz is finally being  _ Baz  _ and not His Royal Highness Prince Basilton anymore. Or whatever weird in between state he was in before. 

_ Look, I doesn’t matter what anyone says, I’m pretty sure Thorin is really fond of Bilbo, you can’t convince me otherwise. _

_ you offer me thilbo, but may I offer you merthur _

_ Even the actors ship it. It’s good. Plus, Bradley James. _

_ are you kidding?? Colin Morgan is unarguably the most handsome guy in that show _

_ How can you resist Bradley’s blue blue eyes?  _

_ true but colin is like so freaking cute? definitely team merlin _

One day, Baz sends him a picture of his dog in a Gryffindor scarf, telling him they’re watching the  _ The Great British Bake Off  _ and  _ thinking of you ;)  _ which does all sorts of weird things to Simon’s heart. 

Instead he criticizes Baz’ Hogwarts house, because how does he dare being in the same house as Simon and also, he should be in Slytherin. 

_ First of all, that’s Freddie’s scarf and second of all, you should be a Hufflepuff or something, judging by how you always trail along with you friends like some sort of Golden Retriever.  _

_ you sorted your dog?? and also, why is he more expressive than you?  _

_ Snow. Sometimes, I hate you.  _

_ And about the scarf: Someone who barely knows anything about Harry Potter gave it to me as a present. I suppose they figured everyone would like to be in Gryffindor. Thankfully, Freddie accepted the scarf, so it’s his now. Personally, I think I’m some kind of Ravenclaw. Maybe Slytherin as well. Slytherclaw. But honestly? Not too big on labelling myself with a Hogwarts house. _

_ now that was an essay. took me a while to read _

_ how dare you disrespect hogwarts houses like this _

  
  


There’s some kind of rhythm they fall into again, their texts getting less since New Year’s Eve, as they both are busy with official meetings, interviews and events. Baz often texts Simon at 5 in the morning (which is a more humane time in the UK for him), when he’s stuck in boring royal meetings or family breakfast. It’s amusing and Simon loves to read it first thing in the morning.

In return he records twenty-minute audios for him while he prepares his breakfast and drinks his coffee, or while he packs his bag for the day. He just rambles along, about the things that annoy him and the things he has to get done for the day. It surprisingly helps him to actually get organized and keep track of his plans. 

_ avatar is on tv rn and if you think i won’t rewatch the whole show your wrong _

_ For a horrible moment I was afraid you were talking about the movie with the blue aliens. _

_ ofc not!! but it’s super painful to watch the first season because zuko just looks hideous _

_ I can’t believe you’d insult him like that. Let me guess, your favourite is Sokka? You seem similar. _

_ thanks!! and no, it’s zuko. that’s why season 1 is hard _

_ You like bad guys. _

_ don’t say it like that omg baz _

_ Just a statement of fact. I actually do like Sokka. A lot.  _

_ i mean, who doesn’t _

_ sokka is a great guy and has great jokes _

_ I would be a firebender, I think. _

_ No, I’m pretty sure.  _

_ smh i was thinking the same about you. there’s something that just screams firebender about you. maybe it’s the hair. can you tie it up? _

_ Never tried. I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.  _

  
  


The next time he’s supposed to see Baz is at the State Dinner. He has to help prepare it, choosing some of the food they want to have there and making sure there’s a room for Baz available. 

When he checks instagram for a moment, he sees that Baz posted a picture of himself in his private jet. 

_ On my way to hang out with @simonsnow at the State Dinner! Can’t wait to see you again! _

Simon rolls his eyes and adds a comment.  _ Do you want a specific colour of bedsheets? _

_ Simon, look at this. It’s so funny.  _

Penny added a link for him and Simon clicks it, still standing by the bedsheets. He can’t believe he has to prepare Baz’ room on his own.

The link Penny sent is some kind of list or analysis and it’s titled.  _ Why I believe that Simon and Baz are dating.  _

Which is absolutely ridiculous and it also makes Simon laugh. Who even thinks of that? He doesn’t bother to read it and puts his phone away. 

Then he chooses the white bedsheets, because they’re simple and it’s not like they actually have a lot of colour variety. 


	8. The Reason for Baz' Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!   
I still haven't read Wayward Son (but the book has finally arrived) so still no spoilers, please! I've managed to avoid them for so long.
> 
> Here's the next chapter and I'm incredibly sorry that it took me so long to upload! I'm struggling with some parts later in the story, so if you want to share some of your expectations for this story, that'd be great! 
> 
> And now! I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's getting interesting...

Baz is a little nervous when he gets into the car and is chauffeured to the White House once again. 

Then he's greeted by Snow and he feels the tension leave his body.

“What do I have to expect?,” he asks and Snow attempts to throw an arm around his shoulder. Only then Baz realises that there are some photographers present.

“Well, it won't be the same private dinner as we had at your palace. Lots of people. Absolutely no privacy at all, honestly. But a great way to form closer international bonds or whatever. I absolutely hate it.”

Baz hides his smile and nods. “Understandably.”

“I suppose you’re going to love it. Lots of attention, fancy wine, posh language.”

Baz catches Snow’s attempt to watch his reaction secretly and raises an eyebrow. “You are totally right. I love pretending to be someone I’m not in large crowds.”

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry.” Snow pulls his arm back and Baz regrets saying anything at all.

“No– look.” Baz sighs and he can’t believe he’s actually sort of apologizing now. “It’s just… you’re kind of the only one I can talk about this freely with.”

“What about Micah?”

“Yes, I can talk to him too, but it’s different with you. Because you can kind of understand it all, the whole thing with being famous and the centre of attention. Being a role model and representative of your country. It’s different and I’m kind of glad we have to pretend to be friends.”

Snow grimaces. “Is it still just pretending for you?” He opens a door and Baz understands that it’s room. His suitcase is standing on the carpet.

“Yes. Of course.” He puts on a rather unreadable expression again, preparing his defense mechanism—shutting people and affection out. 

“Right. I’ll leave you to unpack then,” Snow says, sounding salty and then he’s gone. Surprisingly, he didn’t shut the door like a five-year-old, but it’s still obvious enough for Baz that it wasn’t the answer Snow wanted to hear. And maybe it wasn’t the true answer either. 

The State Dinner is so very full of people that Baz forgets the names of the people he’s introduced to as soon as he hears them. He keeps up his polite smile for the photographers and the guests and he tries to find Snow, since they seem to be the only ones their age. 

Turns out Snow isn’t as bad at talking to people as he thinks he is. Baz sees him engaged in a conversation with two representatives before the dinner and he’s talking lively while eating as well—and he shows some great manners, something Baz honestly did not quite expect. 

They’re standing around in another room after the dinner, half the people have champagne and Baz fails to find Snow  _ again.  _ And, quite frankly, it’s rather boring. He makes some small talk with some of the representatives, until someone bumps against him and he turns around to find Snow smiling sheepishly. 

“Apologies, you royal highness,” he says, slight teasing tone and it takes Baz a moment to remember that they’re supposed to be best friends. So he flashes a bright smile at Snow and grabs his arm to keep him close. 

“Simon! Where have you been?” He turns to the representative he was talking to and pats Snow’s shoulder. “My friend, Simon, the First Son,” he introduces cheerfully and it’s a lot of acting. 

“Can I steal Baz for a moment?,” Snow asks, smiling politely, then throws his arm around Baz again as he guides him away. 

“I didn’t interrupt an important conversation, did I?,” he asks, leaning close and Baz can smell the champagne Snow drank. It reminds him of the wedding and he almost grimaces at the memory.

“You saved me from a boring one,” he replies quietly. It’s something no one else is supposed to hear. 

Snow grins. “Good. Let’s go somewhere else.” 

They end up in Snow’s room with a bottle of champagne. Baz has the feeling they’re not supposed to be here and do this, but he doesn’t care. No one will notice, it can’t go on much longer. If they left a few minutes early, it’ll be fine.

Snow did not bring glasses, so they take swigs from the bottle directly, passing it between them. It’s weirdly intimate and Baz tries not to think about it. 

“I suppose I owe you a thanks,” Baz starts, running his fingers over the couch cushions absently, “for getting me out of there early.”

Snow shrugs and takes a sip from the bottle. “I suppose  _ I  _ owe you an apology.” 

“No. You don’t. I do. I didn’t know it would hurt you that much. It’s just hard for me to admit.”

“Gee, Baz,” Snow giggles, “it’s just whether or not we’re friends, we don’t have to  _ marry  _ or something.”

Baz smiles strained. Yeah. Right. He forgot he has this very obviously  _ one-sided  _ crush. 

“Hey,” Snow makes, poking into Baz’ side with his foot. Baz squirms away and slaps his foot away. 

“I don’t want your stinky feet this close to me, Snow.”

Snow tilts his head thoughtfully and there’s a part of Baz that totally regrets drinking even the slightest bit, because he can’t control his thoughts anymore. It’s just a lot of  _ shit, he looks way too cute  _ and  _ please touch me again. _

“Why'd you never call me Simon?” 

“I do.”

“When we’re around people. For pretending.”

“You only call me by my middle name as well,” Baz shrugs, but he knows it’s not comparable.

“Oh, would you prefer it… if I called you,” Snow makes a meaningful pause and hands Baz the champagne,  _ “Tyrannus?  _ Because I could totally do it.” 

“No.” Baz takes a large sip from the champagne and grimaces. 

“Then call me Simon. Pretty please?” 

“How old are you?,” Baz mocks, earning another face full of Snow’s feet. “Mate. Get your feet away.” 

“You know what? That strong British accent you’ve got going on when you’re tipsy?” 

“What about it?” 

Snow shrugs and Baz takes another sip as he waits for an answer. 

“It’s just… funny to hear.” Snow’s words are not easy to understand, which is a sign they’re both being affected by the alcohol more and more.

“Ah. You like it.” Baz smirks and hands him the bottle. “You think it’s  _ hot. _ ”

“I mean, it’s like the one some characters in the BBC shows have,” Snow shrugs.

“Because it’s BBC. British. They’re… British, Snow.”

“Simon.”

Baz rolls his eyes.  _ “Simon.” _

“What?” He looks at him and Baz gives him a  _ are-you-fucking-serious-right-now- _ look. 

“Maybe I do like the British accent,” Snow admits, “but you can’t argue that it’s good.”

“Well, duh. It’s the superior accent.”

They’re slowly but surely emptying the bottle and he can feel himself dip more into the drunk-area, rather than just  _ tipsy. _ Snow keeps nudging him with his foot, so Baz grabs it and pulls at his sock. 

“Hey!” Snow tries to kick him and Baz squeaks indignantly as he tries to dodge him. Snow starts to kick him with both feet now and Baz tries to keep them out of his face and to shove him away. Instead, he just lands on the floor and gives up giggling. 

Baz reaches out again and pulls at Snow’s leg. Snow squeaks and giggles and then he’s lying on top of him and Baz feels like he can’t breathe anymore. (Quite literally. Snow is heavy.) 

“Oh my god,” Snow giggles and slowly rolls off him, “apologies, your royal highness.” 

Baz slowly catches his breath and turns a little, watching Snow. He’s so beautiful. 

He’s also so close right now.

Maybe Baz should stop staring. Maybe he should turn away and just let it rest. Go to bed. Leave while it’s still all good and they’ve had a lot of fun.

He doesn’t. 

Instead, he reaches over to Snow, props himself up on his elbows and kisses him. It’s unsteady and sloppy because he’s drunk and Snow is drunk—he has to be, because he’s kissing him back. 

It’s not the perfect romantic kiss he had imagined having with Snow, but it’s still an experience.

And he’s totally taking advantage of Snow being drunk, isn’t he?

Baz pulls back and tires to get up. It’s hard, he has to hold on to the couch and he’s not standing straight. When he tries to make his way to the door, he’s tottering and almost stumbles over Snow’s legs. 

Snow doesn’t quite react, so Baz picks up his shoes, almost falling again—why does his body dare giving up on him now? He manages to leave the room and close the door, then he has to lean against it for a moment.

He’s not trying to process this yet. He has to get to his room first and lie down somewhere before his legs actually stop carrying him. 

It takes him at least twice as long to get to his room as it should have, but then he’s finally on his bed and he just buries his face under the blanket.

What the hell was he thinking?

He knows that he  _ was _ thinking, so that’s absolutely no excuse. 

He kissed Snow—without consent, as well—and then he just fled. He ran away. He’s literally the worst person. 

And that’s the person he has a crush on. For years. 

Baz groans and turns around, staring at the ceiling instead. He squeezes the pillow on his stomach, but it doesn’t help. He’s not calm. He’s absolutely not calm at all.

He fucked up big time and he can’t leave until the next morning.

It would probably be better,  _ fairer _ , to talk about it with Snow. Make things clear. Apologize. 

But that has to wait until tomorrow.

Baz wakes up with a slight headache and he thinks he deserves it. He still has to talk to Snow. Never before has he been this afraid to meet him. 

He takes a long shower to treat himself and then he puts on some expensive clothes. That often helps him feel more confident. He knows he looks elegant and classy, and then he acts like it.

Baz leaves his room and tries to find the kitchen. When he passes a room he hears voices from, he stops. It could be the kitchen.

It sounds like a discussion, maybe a heated argument, and he hesitantly opens the door. President Salisbury is sitting on her chair, rubbing her temples exasperated. Her husband is standing at the other side of the table, freezing in his wild movements and loud tone when he notices Baz. 

Snow doesn't react at all, he's sitting between them, hunched down and staring at his hands resting on the table in tight fists.

“Is this not the kitchen?,” Baz asks, acting surprised. 

“Simon, why don't you show our guest the kitchen?,” President Salisbury offers and Snow gets up a little too fast and nods. 

“Thank you,” Baz smiles and waits for Snow to leave the room. Then he closes the door and follows him down the hallway. He's walking quick, as if he's fleeing, and Baz decides not to ask about the scene he just interrupted.

Snow is kind of a robot in the kitchen. He’s making coffee and toast without saying anything, each movement trained by routine. 

“Are we going to talk about the kiss?,” Baz asks, doing his best to sound casual, like it wasn’t as big of a deal as it actually was.

“What do you want to talk about there? It was just a kiss.” Snow makes it sound like it actually  _ wasn’t  _ that big of a deal. He puts down the cup of coffee and the plate with toast down in front of Baz and then he’s standing in the kitchen looking like a lost dog. 

Baz wonders what’s going through his mind right now, but he feels uncomfortable. What are you supposed to talk about with your crush, who you just kissed the night before?

“We were drunk,” Snow adds, as if he’s trying to convince Baz of his prior statement. Or maybe he’s not trying to convince  _ Baz. _

“Right,” Baz agrees, “so we’re not going to do it again?” That’s probably not the best thing to ask, and Snow seems to think the same, because he crunches up his face in confusion.

“No. Why should we do that?”

“Exactly. Why should we?,” Baz nods and frowns to himself.  _ Why _ did he ask that? 

“So… there’s more food in the fridge, if you want to eat more. Tell me when you plan to leave.” 

Baz looks at him. “Where are you going?”

“My room. I’ve got things to do.”

“I’m sorry,” Baz says quickly, before Snow can leave the kitchen. 

“Okay. Noted.”

Baz nods slowly, because it sounds like that’s it. Then Snow is gone and Baz is left in quiet to think about how he ruined everything. 

He does tell Snow when he leaves, but all that Snow does is say goodbye shortly, as if he can’t wait for him to leave, and then Baz is already flying over the Atlantic. 

Turns out, Snow has a lot of things to do. Or maybe he’s lost his phone. At least he’s not answering any of Baz’ messages. Which he usually does, within hours. But he hasn’t even read any of them.

Baz doesn’t have to think about what he did wrong. He knows it. Nothing else happened that could’ve resulted in this. 

It was the kiss. Of course.

Baz just  _ had  _ to ruin everything, right when he had gotten closer to Snow. 

Snow has not lost his phone, because he’s still posting on Instagram. So he’s ignoring Baz. Feels great.

To deal with this disappointment and admittedly heartbreak as well, Baz avoids looking at his phone as well. It drives Micah absolutely mad when he’s trying to contact him, but it helps Baz stay sane. 

He can’t avoid seeing Snow everywhere though. Why does that idiot have to do things that turn the attention of the public to him anyway?

He does pick up his phone after he saw it, and Micah did text him. A lot. Within the last hour. As soon as Baz starts reading through the messages, Micah already calls him.

“Are you alright?”

“Why are you asking?”

“You know why. I texted as soon as I saw. Do you think it’s because of the kiss?” 

“Micah–”

“I’m sorry.” 

Baz told him about the kiss, of course, while he was still on the way home. He also asked him not to mention it unless it’s necessary, but he fails to see why it’s necessary now. 

He knows what Micah is talking about—how could he not—but he doesn’t really want to think about it. It just hurts. It feels like a stab, even though it’s absolutely not Snow’s fault. He couldn’t have known. As far as Snow knows they just kissed because they were drunk, he doesn’t know Baz kissed him because he has wanted to for years. 

Baz looks down at the magazine to his feet, opened at the double-page spread about Snow’s date with the mystery blonde. Or, how Micah calls it: The Reason for Baz’ despair.


	9. Simon can't keep secrets

The thing about the kiss is that Simon absolutely cannot forget it. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t stop thinking about it.

And isn’t that weird? He really thought that the alcohol would’ve made him forget what happened that night. Unfortunately he remembers all of it. 

But if his father knew… he already thought it was bad enough that they left together slightly early. Simon doesn’t want to imagine his reaction if he knew they also kissed. (Or, well, Baz kissed him.) (But he kissed back, so what does that mean?)

“What are the people supposed to think, Simon?,” his father asked enraged.

“That… we’re good friends? Wasn’t that the whole plan?” Simon should have known better than to answer his father’s rhetorical questions.

“Friends do not sneak away closely and don’t show up until the morning!”

His mother had tried to reason with Davy a couple of times, but he was unstoppable in his rage. Davy didn’t care that Baz didn’t sleep in Simon’s room either. He just went on and on about how irresponsible Simon was until Baz stepped in unannounced and Simon’s wish to disappear entirely grew ten times stronger. 

He doesn’t know how much longer his mother had tried to reason with Davy after she sent them away, and he doesn’t really want to know what the result was. 

Simon doesn’t know how to do anything after that night. He can’t concentrate well on his work or any book he attempts to read. All he can think about is Baz, the smell of champagne and Baz’ lips tasting like champagne. 

So what does that mean? 

He knows Baz is gay. 

He also knows that he keeps thinking about that kiss. 

There’s nothing else he knows. 

But he knows someone he could ask. So he calls his ex, Agatha.

“Simon? I’m a little busy right now.”   
“Okay. Can we meet up maybe? Grab a coffee? My treat.”

She sighs. “Alright. Wednesday maybe?”

“Yes. Thank you. Wednesday is great. Thanks.” 

Actually calling her seemed like the hardest part, because Simon had to admit to himself that he needs her help. Not Penny’s, not Ebb’s, not his mother’s. Agatha’s help. He hasn’t seen her in years. 

Maybe the hardest part will be Wednesday. No, he’s rather certain that it’ll be Wednesday. 

Tuesday is bad. It’s not bad in a  _ not being able to get out of bed and not being able to get anything done _ kind of way, but in a  _ he can’t stop thinking about Baz and the kiss (and therefore not getting anything done)  _ kind of day.

That has to stop. Ghosting Baz apparently does nothing to help him forget the kiss, but Simon knows that not ghosting him wouldn’t help either. And he just needs some distance for now. Until he has figured out what it means for him. Is he gay too? Because he kissed him back? They were drunk. What does it  _ mean? _

Simon just really hopes Agatha can help him. She knows him best concerning dating, after all she was his only girlfriend.

  
  


Simon is extremely nervous on Wednesday. He’s a little late to their meeting and when he steps into the café, Agatha is already waiting at a table. He recognises her almost immediately by her long beautiful hair. 

He throws his bag down next to the chair and sits down. 

“Hey. Sorry, I’m late. Got caught up in traffic.”

Agatha smiles a little. “You were never quite punctual. How can I help you?”

“Oh. Okay, do you have a little time? It’s kind of a big topic.” Simon picks at his ear and smiles sheepishly. 

“I have some time, don’t worry.”

“Good. Thank you. It’s about uh… kind of about dating.”

She laughs shortly and hides it behind her hand. “You come to me to talk about dating?”

“I mean… maybe… since you’re not into that you can give me better advice?”

She smiles and takes a sip of her coffee. “Alright. How can I help you?”

“Well… I kind of kissed a boy. Or well, I suppose he kissed me? But I kissed back. I mean… we were drunk, so I’m not sure if it counts, but… I can’t stop thinking about it. The thing is, it was Baz and we’re kind of rivals but we aren’t really, not anymore, it’s kind of a long story, but he’s gay, so I don’t know if that changes anything.”

Agatha blinks and slowly puts her cup down. “I’m… afraid I didn’t quite get everything.”   
Simon sighs. “Okay. What did you get?”

“Just to be clear… is this  _ Prince _ Basilton we’re talking about? The one you simultaneously hate and are best friends with?”

He nods. “Yes. Him. Long story. Might have to do with the wedding disaster.” He shrugs a little embarrassed.

“And… you just told me he’s gay. Which is classified information, I suspect?” 

Simon stares at her. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Yes. It’s very classified. You can’t tell that to anyone. Ever. He’s going to kill me.”

“No, I don’t think so. He kissed you.”

“Trust me, he’s going to kill me. Even more so if he finds out I also told you about the kiss.”

Agatha nods patiently. “So, do I understand this correctly, you want me to help you through your gay crisis?”

Simon sighs and tears at his hair. “I don’t think I’m gay.”

“Okay. Do you think you’re straight?”

“I mean… I’m pretty sure I am. It’s not like I think guys are hot.” Simon pauses and thinks. Colin Morgan. Richard Armitage. Robert Pattinson, mostly in Harry Potter. Even Daniel Radcliffe himself. Zuko, though he’s an animated character, so Simon isn’t sure if he actually counts. He groans. “Okay, maybe I’m a little bit not straight.”

Agatha smiles. “Well, that’s alright. There are enough straight people anyway.”

Simon sighs and takes the menu, turning the pages without looking at them. “What do I do now?” 

“Do you want sexuality advice or relationship advice?,” Agatha asks, sounding a bit amused.

“Can I have both?” 

“That’ll cost extra.”

Simon laughs, then sighs. “Do you think I should ask him?”

“Whether you’re gay or not?”

“I mean… maybe he can help?”   
“Simon,” Agatha says, but it sounds more like a soft sigh. “For that you’ll have to talk to him first.”

“Right.” Simon frowns. “Do you think ghosting him was a bad idea?”

“It might have hurt his feelings, especially if the kiss was important to him.” 

“If the kiss– we were drunk!” Simon rubs his face. “I– you can’t just say something like that!”

“I’m sorry,” Agatha says, but she doesn’t quite look like she is. Sometimes, she’s worse than Penny. “But maybe that was just the last idea you needed to hear to figure out the rest.”

“You’re implying he likes me– that’s just absurd. He hates me. We’re rivals.” Simon stares at the coffee-menu and buries his fingers in his hair. 

“You’re currently pretending to be best friends,” Agatha reminds him, “and by the amount of… interesting posts on the internet you’re really good at it.” 

“Penny sent me some,” he mumbles. “They’re stupid.”

“Are they though?” She takes another sip of her coffee and smiles at him. “You don’t have to figure it out right now. Or even this year. It’s all good. You don’t have to figure it out, ever.”

Simon sighs and glances at her. “Thank you… you’re a great help. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”   
“Googling it. And then you’d come across some things that would make you insecure and you wished you hadn’t googled.” She shrugs. “If you need something else, you can text me. And please text me before you call, alright?”

He nods and smiles a bit. “Alright. I know. You’re a busy woman.”

She laughs and Simon is glad to hear it. He missed her those past years. 

Simon is reading through an informational pamphlet of LGBT+ identities, borrowed from his mom’s desk, when Penny walks into his room unannounced.

“Penny!” Simon hastily drops a few papers over the pamphlet and turns around to her with his chair. “What are you doing here?” 

Instead of an answer Penny holds up a magazine, depicting him and Agatha in the corner of the cover. She flips through the pages and shows him the double-page spread. (He gets an own double-page spread for meeting with a friend, isn’t that exciting? He bets Baz hasn’t gotten that yet.)

“Do you think this is a good idea?”

“I was just meeting her for coffee. We talked. That’s all.” 

Penny throws herself on his bed and gives him a pointed look. “Well, this says something entirely else.”

“What does it say?”

“That you went on a date.”

“I mean, that’s not wrong, technically–”

“Simon! I really don’t know if it would make both of you happy.”

Simon sighs. “Calm down. We just met as friends. There’s nothing romantic about it. You know how much the tabloids love their gossip.” 

Penny sighs. “Well. I hope you’re right. What did you meet up for?”

“Ah, you know,” Simon shrugs, “catching up and all.”

“There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“No? No, there isn’t. Why would you think that?” Simon laughs nervously and rests his hand on the papers. 

“You seem weird, that’s all.” Penny lies back. “Anyway! I wanted to tell you that Micah called again, because your best friend is still waiting for a sign of life from you.”

Simon throws his hands into the air. “That’s not my problem. Tell him to stop bothering you about it.”

She sighs. “Your Prince seems to be really worried.” 

“He’s not my prince,” Simon grumbles. 

“You should text him back. Or call.” Penny tosses the magazine away. “What were you doing before?”

“Nothing.” Simon replies too quickly. 

“Aha!” She sits back up. “Were you watching porn?”

“No! Penny!” Simon rubs his face. “I wasn’t doing anything. Just… sitting here. Uh… reading some things.”

He feels like he should tell her about it at some point. She’s his best friend. He only told Agatha first because she’s kind of in that community. And she told him about her being asexual and aromantic as well. (It was kind of a mess, because it was when they broke up and Simon didn’t understand what she meant for a long time.) (He understands it better now.) 

He should probably tell Penny. Maybe she can help. 

  
  


Simon doesn’t manage to actually tell her until a few days later. He tried to figure out if he’s gay or not, or if he’s something else, but he hasn’t gotten much further. And he just wants to tell Penny. He doesn’t want to keep it a secret. It feels like a very important part of himself and she’s his best friend. She deserves to know. 

“So, how can I help you today?,” she asks, flopping down on the couch.

Simon takes a deep breath and sits up straight on his bed. “Something happened. Or, well… I’m trying to figure out if I’m gay.”

She looks up surprised. “Oh? How did that happen?” 

“Uh…” He told Agatha as well… he can tell Penny. More opinions and ideas are probably something good. “Baz kind of kissed me. Back at the State Dinner?”

“No! Really? Simon!”

“It wasn’t my fault! We were drunk!”

“After I sent you that link!”

Simon looks at her confused. “What– oh. Oh! That link.  _ Oh no.  _ No, that’s totally not what’s happening.” He tears at some of his curls. “God, do you think he knows about that?”

Penny shrugs. “Maybe. He is active on social media. Micah and I exchange those links, because we think it’s funny, so maybe he did send some of them to Baz.”

“How much do you text with Micah? That’s almost as much as Baz and me.”

“As Baz and you  _ used to _ , besides we’re  _ actually  _ kind of dating, so we’re basically what you could have been.”

“But straight, so in other words: boring.”

Penny grins. “Seems to me like you don’t need to figure it out anymore. Whether you’re gay or not.”

“Oh.” Simon smiles and shrugs. “Maybe not. But I don’t know if I’m gay, you know? I just know I’m probably not straight. But then again, did I ever really like girls or was it just as phase? And what if this is a phase as well? We were drunk when we kissed. Maybe I’m straight.”

“Well, you seem pretty hung up on that kiss.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it since it happened,” Simon admits and it does sound rather pathetic. 

“Well, I’d say you’re definitely not straight. At least a little gay. You don’t have to call yourself gay.”

“Yeah… maybe I’m bi, but that somehow doesn’t feel right either.”

Penny smiles. “You don’t need to call yourself anything. You can just be you. Simon. Not straight.”

Simon smiles. “Yeah… I’ll look up some… general terms. What are they called again?”

“Umbrella terms maybe?”

“Yes.” Simon gets up and stretches. “Exactly. God, this feels good. Having it a bit figured out.”

“So are you gonna text Baz again, finally?”

He groans dramatically. “I think it’s time we change the topic.”

“Micah says he’s really worried!”

“So, how is your mom doing?”

  
  


Simon sits his parents down too. Maybe it's a bit early, he just figured it out a few days ago himself, but it's important for him that they know.

He's nervous. He feels like his mom won't mind much, but his father might.

“I… have something to tell you.”

Simon sits up straight and concentrates on his breathing to calm down for a moment. This probably isn’t the best idea, but he also wants to get over with it. 

“I think I’m queer.”

His father looks at him and Simon doesn’t know if it’s anger or disappointment in his eyes.

“As in… I might also like boys.” 

Davy throws his hands into the air and Simon settles with anger. Great. He should have thought it through first. “But I also like girls,” he adds, hoping it’ll appease him.

“Simon! If the public hears about this! You'll ruin this family!”

He bites his lip. “Father, it's just who I am.”

“Well, stick with girls then!”

“I can't do that! I don't know if I'm gay or bi or any of the other things that exist there, but I know that I want to kiss girls and boys and you can't forbid me to love someone!” He gets up enraged and gestures wildly. 

His father glares at him. “Sit back down. How dare you talk to me like this?”

“Davy, that's enough,” Lucy interrupts. “Simon, please. It's alright. We'll talk about this later again. I need a bit of preparation and then we can talk, alright?” She smiles at him and Simon gives up. 

He nods and slowly leaves the room.

Fine. He allowed Agatha to treat it like some kind of mathematical problem because it helped. The factuality made it seem far away and made it easier to approach the topic from a different side.

He'll let his mom do the same, if it helps her.

When Simon steps into the room, he’s happy not to find his father in there. Ebb is sitting at the table with Lucy instead and Simon wonders if she’ll stay. Part of him hopes so, because otherwise it’ll be awkward and embarrassing. 

“Simon,” Lucy smiles, “sit down.”

He does, eyeing her warily. 

“So, you said you liked boys.”

Simon nods. “Yes. Like you do. And Ebb.”

“I don’t like boys,” Ebb says, not quite meeting Simon’s eyes. He’s staring, which is probably impolite, so he looks at his mother instead. 

He chews on his lip as his mother pulls out a folder. “I have done a little bit of research on the topic,” she says.

“I don’t know why we’re doing this,” Simon admits. “I just wanted you to know that I might date a boy someday. Or a girl.” 

“And that’s totally fine. That’s what I wanted you to know. That it’s okay, even though your father doesn’t think so.” She sighs and looks over to Ebb shortly, then back to him. “You don’t have to stick to girls. You don’t have to hide it if you have a boyfriend. It won’t ruin the family. I don’t care. You’re still my son.”

Simon swallows and nods, staring at his hands. “Yes. Okay. Thank you.”

“But you should be aware of the consequences,” Ebb speaks up. “I know you’ve experienced it before, but if you have a boyfriend, the media will lunge themselves at it. The internet and public doesn’t forget, ever, Even if you break up, it’ll always come back to you.”

Simon nods. “Yes. I know. It would be public. Everyone would know. I’d have to come out officially. And I don’t even know as what.”

“You never have to come out if you don’t want to,” his mom says and he sighs and wipes over his face.

“Thanks… this means... a lot. That you did this.” 

“Of course.” Lucy get up and wraps her arms around him. “You’ll always be my rosebud boy, no matter who you date.” 

Simon hugs her back and tries not to cry about all of this. 

“And if you need any help or advice or just… some company, you can come to me,” Ebb offers and he nods into his mom’s stomach. Lucy releases him and he smiles at Ebb.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” 

  
  


Simon settles down in his room on the Saturday of Eurovision and watches a livestream on his laptop. It’s only 3pm for him, so he hopes no one will interrupt him. He also heard it’ll be around three hours, so he’ll probably even be able to have dinner with his family. He‘s not really looking forward to it. Family meals have been strained ever since he came out.

It’s also the day he starts texting Baz again. He doesn’t expect him to reply anytime soon, because Baz is probably watching himself, but Baz replies. As if he waited for him to text. (Turns out Baz was just on his phone because he’s tweeting a lot.)

_ i don’t understand why australia participates _

_ Part of Europe. Used to be a British Colony. _

_ so were we! _

_ Snow, you could make your own ESC with all the states you have in your country. _

_ omg! true!! and my mom’s president, maybe we actually could _

_ you’re a genius _

_ Thanks, but I just don’t want America in ESC. _

_ rude _

There’s a pause then, and Simon hopes Baz is just enjoying the song. Maybe it’s one of his favourites. It has a violin.

_ Good to see you’re still alive. You were very quiet. _

_ yeah, kinda busy _

Simon immediately feels bad, because it’s kind of a lie. 

_ had some things to figure out _

_ but i think i should be back to annoy you regularly again _

_ Good.  _

_ I missed criticizing your outfits. _

_ because you’re such a fashion icon _

_ I’m gay, of course I am! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be a little break throughout November here, as I'll attempt NaNoWriMo!   
After that, I'll try to finish up the last chapters and hopefully have this uploaded until New Year's Eve! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a comment with your favourite quote!


	10. Both come up with stupid reasons to call each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek-- I'm sorry for the super long absence.  
I promise I will working on finishing this fic soon and post the next chapters without a three month pause.  
Anyway! Here's a chapter to make up for it! Although I feel like I've completely lost track (I hope it'll be better soon.)  
If you wanna know what I've been up to over the months, you can check out my Instagram and Twitter (@xmoreth) 
> 
> And now some exciting news: I'm participating in the Golden Days Zine, the first Carry On/Wayward Son Zine! Preorders begin on February 24th.  
You can find more info on their Tumblr [@goldendayszine](https://goldendayszine.tumblr.com/), their Twitter [@goldendayszine](https://twitter.com/goldendayszine/) and their Instagram [@goldendays.simonsnowzine](https://www.instagram.com/goldendays.simonsnowzine/)  
Check them out! There are a lot of great and talented people contributing!
> 
> And now, finally:  
Enjoy! And thank you for sticking around after all.

It’s good to chat with Snow again. It feels like some kind of routine returns to Baz’ life. And it’s good not to be ignored by Snow anymore, as well. Baz finally doesn’t feel like he totally screwed up anymore.

It’s kind of remarkable how they managed to just get back to the point they were at before. It was a little hard for Baz, because he didn’t know how Snow felt about the whole situation, but after a few days it all feels normal again.

Baz doesn’t mention the date Snow had. Or the kiss. He tries to stay as far away from romantic topics as possible in general. 

Snow calls him at 3am, which is evening for Snow, and he sounds distressed. 

Baz is too worried to make fun of him. And he’s too tired to scold him for waking him up in the middle of the night. 

“Snow,” he mumbles, “it’s 3am here.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, it’s not important, we can just–”

“Snow,” Baz interrupts. “Stop. If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t have called. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He replies too fast again and Baz frowns, sitting up in his bed. He turns on his nightstand lamp and rubs his temple. “It’s just– no it’s– it’s nothing.”

Snow sounds like he’s on the verge of tears and Baz is too far away to comfort him. Not really the best time for Snow to cry.

“Snow,” Baz tries again, “you can tell me.”

“It’s just–” There’s another pause and Baz considers asking someone to bring him a cup of tea and something to eat. This might take a while. 

“When you came out to Micah, how did he react?,” Snow finally says after a while. 

“Oh.” Baz tilts his head. How did Micah react? “Well. First of all, he asked me if I have a crush on him.”

“That’s not the nicest reaction,” Snow says slowly.

Baz laughs quietly. “No, but justified. I did have a crush on him back then and I wasn’t subtle.”

“What happened then?” Snow sounds genuinely curious and maybe this is just another great way to distract him from whatever happened. 

“Well, he told me he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, but that he hoped we could still be friends. You know, the usual. I made a great effort at being just friends with him and apparently managed well, because we’re still best friends. I suppose he was right when he said we work better at friends. He came out to me a year later, so that was kind of a bummer. It’s easier to get over someone when you believe they’re not attracted to you at all.”

“That makes sense,” Snow says after a moment. 

“Anyway, I’m fine now. I no longer have a crush on my best friend.”

“Do you wish you could be more open about who you are?” 

Baz hesitates. “Sometimes, yeah. It would already be great if I could openly donate to LGBT-organisations. Or just tell people like me that it’s okay and that they’re not alone. That I’d change things for them if I could.”

“Yeah…” Simon sighs. “The reason I called uh… my parents. My father.”

“Ah. Okay, yeah? What about him?” 

“He…” Baz can hear Simon taking a shaky breath and now he’s really starting to worry. “He’s kind of an ass.” Simon is talking quietly, as if he’s scared someone might hear him.

“Did he… did he hurt you?,” Baz asks carefully.

There’s silence for a couple of minutes, then he hears the quietest whisper. “Yes.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“It wasn’t bad. It’s all good.” Snow’s voice sounds so small and it absolutely breaks Baz’ heart.

“Listen,” he tells him, “that doesn’t mean you’re worth any less, okay? Parents should not hurt their kids, ever.”

“It’s just… he’s never hit me before,” Snow mumbles.

“Hey,” Baz says softly, and that’s the best he can muster now, “Simon. You’re so brave, you know? You’re so brave and you deserve so much better. Your father has absolutely no right to hurt you, physically or not.”

“But he does.”

“No. Why would you say something like that?”

“Because I’m… because–” 

Baz can hear how much Snow is struggling and it’s heartbreaking. Baz really wants to hug him. And then kiss him again. Just to show him how much he means it. 

“It’s alright, Simon. Whatever it is you’re feeling, I promise you, it’s okay.” 

“He was not very accepting,” Snow finally gets out. “When I told him I like boys.” 

Baz sinks back in his bed and sighs. Okay. Snow likes boys. That’s fine. And that’s something he can think about later. Comforting Snow is a priority now. 

“Well, your father is stupid,” he says, because so is his. It’s not like they  _ chose _ to like boys. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not your fault you like boys, too. But it is his decision to accept it or not, and he has no excuse not to. He’s a grown-up adult.”

“Yes, but I still feel… so guilty.” Snow sighs. “Like I deserved it. I could’ve just not told them and then everything would be like it was before.”

“Simon, listen closely now. You did not deserve that. Repeat it after me. I do not deserve that.” 

“I do not deserve that,” Snow mumbles.

“Yes. Say it again, but believe it this time.” 

“I. Do. Not. Deserve. That.” 

“Yes! Fantastic! Do you feel better now?” Baz can’t help but smile at his phone, as if Snow can see it. He hopes the energy will radiate through the phone somehow and reach him.

“A little.” And is he imagining it or does he actually hear a faint smile in Snow’s voice? “Thank you. It helped a lot. Talking to you.”

A pause. 

“Hearing about your embarrassing crush.” Now Baz is certain that Snow is grinning.

“Well. Next time, you’ll tell me about  _ your _ embarrassing crush. And Simon? I’m very glad you told me about what happened. If you need help or anything… you know where to find me.”

“Why does everyone think I need help?,” Snow asks, but he doesn’t sound like he minds. 

“You just seem like that person,” Baz grins. 

“Maybe. Well… What time is it for you?” 

“A little after 4am. It’s all good, don’t worry about the beauty sleep you just stole from me.” Baz gives him a laugh, then continues before Snow can feel bad again. “And I mean it. It’s alright. If you need to wake me up in the middle of the night because of an emergency, so be it.”

“That’s… much appreciated. Thank you. You’re a true friend.”

Baz bites his lip. Yeah. A true friend, who has talent to fall for his very best friend all the time. (He isn’t sure if Snow counts, since he technically didn’t fall for him while they were friends. It still sucks.)

“You’re not that bad either.” He hesitates. But why shouldn’t Snow know? If it helps him feel better? Besides, it’s 4am, he can’t be blamed for all his actions. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. It was stupid from me to ignore you. Didn’t help a lot.”

“Did you do it because of the kiss?”

“Well, yes, but to be fair, you did give me a sexuality crisis with it.”

“I’m sorry,” Baz laughs, but he’s not really.

“And we were drunk! I had no idea what to make of that.”

“Did I wreck your poor brain?”

_ “Yes.” _ Snow laughs, too, and there’s not really much that could make this moment more perfect.

“Shouldn’t you go to bed?,” Baz asks after a while and Snow starts laughing again.

“Yes, but you’re one to talk. When will you be woken up?”

“7 or 8am.”

“Well… I’m sorry for ruining your beauty sleep. But I also appreciate what you’ve sacrificed for me.”

“Hey, it’s a serious topic. It’s more important than sleep. I’m honoured you came to me with it.”

“I just didn’t want to wake my other friends.”

“Ah, I should have figured,” Baz smiles and leans back. “Now, go to bed. Good night, Simon.”

“Good night, Baz. I’ve also noticed that you’re getting better at calling me Simon.”

“I figured it would help you tonight.”

“It did.”

The atmosphere on the anniversary of his mother’s death is tense as always. Baz stays away from all sorts of media over the days surrounding it, as a way of protecting himself. He also ignores all mentions when he does check it some weeks later, because he’s just not ready to talk about her death in public. He doubts he’ll ever be ready. Plus, it’s private. He knows everyone pretends to care so much, but he absolutely can’t seem to appreciate it. It just brings back memories he’d rather forget, and pains him. 

It’s worse that his grandmother never really was a fan of his mother Natasha. She lets Fiona stay, because Fiona just wouldn’t leave, but Baz knows she doesn’t like their family branch a whole lot. He figures it has something to do with the fact that they’re Egyptian. The royal family really can be stuck up. 

His grandmother doesn’t like him too much either, and he figures she’d probably try to disown him if she knew that he’s gay. Well, he can’t make everyone happy, can he?

  
  


Baz calls Snow a few hours later, when he hasn’t gotten a reply the whole afternoon. He figures it will annoy Snow. 

And he’s right. 

“Baz, why are you calling?” Snow sounds less annoyed than Baz would’ve hoped.

“You didn’t answer my texts. It was important.”

“What– the ones about what bender I would be?”

“Yes.”

“You called me because of that?”

_ “Yes. _ It felt like something you would do, too.” 

Snow is quiet for a moment, then he sighs. “I was stuck in a family lunch. That’s why I didn’t answer.”

“It’s noon in America? It’s already evening here.”

“Don’t you have a royal dinner or something to attend?”

“No. There’s no royal dinner tonight.”

“Okay. Fine.” Baz hears him shuffling around, then a door closes and he hears some more shuffling. “I suppose I wouldn’t be a bender.”

“Aww, c’mon, why’s that?”

“It’s just a feeling.” 

Baz laughs. “Absolutely ridiculous, you’d probably be the Avatar.”

“Oh, you think I’m special enough for that?” Snow laughs quietly.

“Well… I do.” Maybe… maybe Snow is too thick to see it as flirting. Not that Baz is flirting—he’s absolutely not, it would be far too dangerous.

“You’d really want the world to be protected by me? Didn’t expect that from you.” Snow is still chuckling to himself and Baz rolls his eyes, even if Snow can’t see it. 

“That’s not quite what I said.”

“Oh, but you did. You think I’d make a great Chosen One.”

“I think you’d be the worst Chosen One,” Baz clarifies, but it just makes Snow laugh some more.

“Yeah. I assume that’s what you would say. But in reality you’d be glad it’s me.”

“In reality I’d probably end you. Enemies and all.” 

“I think you’d come around,” Snow says positively. 

Baz laughs shortly. “Well, if you’re so sure about that.”

“I am. I don’t think you could hate me for a very long time.” Snow sounds atypically confident, if not even a little cocky, as he says it. 

“Maybe you’re wrong,” Baz grins and he receives a gasp as an answer. 

Then he gets a little more serious. He hasn’t forgotten their late night call.

“What was your family lunch like?” 

“Ah… could’ve been worse. My uncle is here, so that’s always a bit weird. My father is still… well, he’s not happy, but he also hasn’t talked to me since.” Snow sighs. 

“Do you think he’ll come around?,” Baz asks carefully.

“Unlikely, but my parents might get a divorce over it.”

“About you liking boys?,” Baz asks, frowning. That just sounds exaggerated. 

“Maybe. I think there’s more, but my head tells me it’s mostly my fault.” 

Snow is like an actual ball of angst and drama. And Baz was thinking he’s the angsty one.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s  _ not _ just your fault. Maybe they’ve been disagreeing about things a lot in the past and you just haven’t noticed it yet.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. They’re not gonna get divorced because you’re into blokes.”

“Okay… thank you. What about your parents? Didn’t your mother die?” 

Baz blinks at his phone and bites his lip.

“You do realise that that’s pretty insensitive to ask? My mother died eleven years ago.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Is that why you called?”

He’s so smart. Snow is so much smarter than everyone—including Baz—gives him credit for. 

“Yes. Today… is the anniversary. It’s… not very pleasant.”

“I’m sorry. Can I do anything?”

“No. That you just talked with me helped a lot.” 

“Well, good to know my complaining helped,” Snow says and Baz smiles to himself.

“It did.”

“Okay, good, because I got a very serious question for you now. When we first met, with seventeen, do you remember that?”

“At the olympics?,” Baz asks, wondering where this is going.

“Yes, exactly. Do you remember what you said to me?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Baz replies, dragging out the words. “Probably  _ hello. _ ”

“I wish you did. You were quite mean, actually.”

“I do remember that you threw up in front of me. You must’ve had too many drinks.”

“You know, I usually don’t drink too much. It was just the first time I did drink a little too much, plus the excitement and then I just kind of… anyway, do you remember what you told your aunt?”

“What did I tell her?”

“You asked:  _ can you get rid of him _ . You just turned around and asked that.”

“Well, I suppose I thought you wouldn’t hear it.”

“That’s… you’re missing the point. Why would you even say something so evil in the first place? You didn’t even know me.”

Baz laughs quietly. “I did. You were famous enough.”

“Huh. Really? That’s uplifting.”

“Well, good to hear I just boosted your confidence.”

Simon laughs, too and it actually does help Baz feel a little better.

“Why did you even say that?”

“Perhaps you were disgusting me, just throwing up in public like that.” 

“Fair point. Still rude,”

Baz chuckles. “That’s true. I apologize on behalf of my younger self.”

“Sweet. I suppose I owe you an apology as well, then. For almost ruining your shoes.”

“I accept that apology.”

“Actually…,” Snow hesitates for a moment and Baz can hear him take a breath. “I was kind of fleeing from my father back then. We were there together, just the two of us, and I managed to sneak away and… well, I ended up drunk.”

“You shouldn’t be left unsupervised.”

Snow laughs shortly. “No. I shouldn't.” 

  
  


Baz immediately knows something is wrong when he walks into the room. Fiona seems angry, more than usual, and she doesn’t even react to him. 

“What happened?,” Baz asks. He leans against the doorframe as she turns around to him and holds up her tablet. 

“Is this allowed?” She sounds so aggressive, Baz steps closer and tries to figure out what has been upsetting her. 

“Is this  _ fucking  _ allowed? To candidate against your own family? I’ve always hated this man, but this is just the  _ worst. _ ” 

“Is that… Snow’s father?”

“Yes. He’s a candidate. Against his own  _ wife _ . That man is absolute trash, don’t ever be like that. Promise me you won’t.”

“I’m not planning on becoming America’s next candidate, so no, I won’t be like that.” Baz frowns. “Weird, though. Has he got reasons?”

“Well, obviously, as every man, he wants power.”

Baz doesn’t like it much. David Salisbury is, for what he knows, not the very best father—he’s abusive, even if it was only once, Baz does have reason to assume that he’s still  _ verbally  _ abusing—and from what he heard from Snow, he’s not the best husband either. 

“And to announce it the day after Tasha’s anniversary… he has absolutely no respect.” 

Baz looks at Fiona confused. “What do you mean? Could be just a coincidence.”

“Trust me, it is not.” Fiona scrolls through the article with such anger, Baz is a little worried about the tablet.

And what does that  _ mean _ ? It’s no coincidence? Did they know each other?

“Fiona– what do you mean, exactly? Why is it no coincidence?” 

“You know how Natasha was murdered, don’t you?”

Baz sinks down on a chair. “Are you telling me the President’s husband  _ murdered _ my mother?” He rubs his face. “Can you prove that?”

“Well, obviously not, or he would be in jail.”

Baz sighs. This is complicated. He knows how much his aunt despises David Salisbury, so he’s not sure if he can take her serious. It could just be the rage about him possibly becoming president speaking. 

“This isn’t the first time he’s running for president,” Fiona says bitterly.

“Not? When was the first time?” 

“In 2008. A little later than this time of the year. He didn’t become president.”

Baz frowns. “But that is… twelve years ago.” He looks at Fiona, to see if he’s thinking what she wants him to think, and she nods, content that he figured it out. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. Do you still think I'm overreacting?”

Baz sighs. “Fiona, I never said that. ”

“But you thought it.”

Baz shrugs. “Maybe. Why should he do that after losing? I will… do some research.” He gets up and brushes his hair out of his face. “Do you think he has a chance?”

“I’m afraid so. He’s a man.”

He nods and thanks her shortly, then he hurries to his room. 

_ Snow, we need to talk. _


	11. Simon is left unsupervised

Simon replies to Baz first thing in the morning, when he sees that he got a message from 4am. If Baz weren’t living in the UK, the timestamps would constantly make him worry about his sleeping schedule. 

They agree to talk a few hours later, so Simon has time to get dressed and have breakfast and Baz can finish his meetings and lunch and whatnot. 

It’s a little after 11am for Simon when he settles in his room and texts Baz that he’s ready. He’s really curious what Baz has to talk about. 

It can’t be too important, since he didn’t call Simon in the middle of the night or demanded to talk the second Simon woke up, but it seems to be important enough that it can’t be discussed another day.

Maybe he wants to meet up again. Simon would like that. 

“Hey. Snow. Are you alone?”

“What a way to greet me. Yes, I am.”

“Good. So, I’ve heard your father… is running for president?”

“Ah.” Simon sighs. “Yeah. He is. Don’t ask me about it. I’m… if I’ll have to choose I’ll…” If they do ask him to choose, he’ll choose his mother. 

“It’s alright,” Baz says, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“I suppose you can figure it out.”

“Yeah.” Baz is quiet and Simon pulls at his blanket. 

“Why did you want to talk?,” he asks, leaning back. 

“Your father. Wasn’t he already a candidate in 2008?”

“Well… I don’t quite remember, since I was like nine or ten back then? He just wasn’t home a lot. That I do remember. Good times.” 

“I’m sorry he’s mistreating you.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Simon laughs nervously.  _ Is _ his father mistreating him? It’s not like Simon is scared of him—at least not all the time—and he did only hit him once, which was probably an accident, now that he’s thinking about it. 

“I didn’t actually call to talk about your father,” Baz says then, and Simon is glad about it– more than he’d admit.

“No? What then? I doubt it was because you were missing my voice.”

Baz laughs shortly. “That  _ was _ a reason. Why do you doubt it?”

“I send you audios every other day. It’s not like you’ll forget what my voice sounds like any time soon.”

“That’s true and I appreciate it.”

“You never listen to them, though.” Simon isn’t mad about it, he doesn’t quite care. He doesn’t expect Baz to listen to them, it’s never anything important. If it was, he’d call.

“I do! But I’m also busy.”

Simon chuckles. “I know that. I don’t expect you to listen. Some of them really shouldn’t have been sent.” 

“Too late. I can listen to all of your embarrassing rambling whenever I want now.” 

“Please don’t let me know. I don’t want to relive that  _ cringe _ .” 

Baz laughs, short and low, and it sounds kind of dark, in an attractive way. Simon frowns to himself. What exactly did he just think?

“Anyway, the actual reason I called was a different one.” 

“Yes. What’s going on?”

Baz sighs, or maybe he’s taking a deep breath, it’s hard to tell. It’s not as hard to tell that he seems a little nervous, which is very unlike Baz and also surprising to Simon, because when exactly did he get to know Baz so well that he can tell when he’s nervous?

“So, I was wondering if you wanted to come over. Uh… just as friends. Visiting each other. You know, normal friends-stuff. For the public.”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Coming over. For… normal friends… stuff.”

“Yes.” Baz sounds somewhat relieved, which amuses Simon for some reason. “And… Micah suggested you could bring Penny.”

“Yes. I’ll ask her. Do you have a specific date in mind?”

“Beginning of August, maybe?”

“Okay. I’ll talk to Penny and my mom.” Simon smiles. They’ll meet again. Finally. They haven’t seen each other since the State Dinner in April. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll honestly be looking forward to it,” Baz says and he does sound very sincere.

“Me too,” Simon smiles, “it’s been… a while.”

Oh, it’ll be so weird, won’t it? The last time they’ve been together, they shared a drunken kiss.

So much has happened since then, most importantly that Simon came out to not only himself, but his family and friends and Baz. Baz, who kissed him.

And he has been trying to keep track of what exactly he feels for Baz. (He’s pretty sure it’s friendship, but the fact that he kissed Baz and couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks made him consider it might be a feeling of very close friendship.)

He didn’t expect his mother to disagree but he’s still relieved when she allows it. Baz suggested they attend a charity event together, to give the whole visit another, more political and social aspect. 

It’s the end of the first week of August when Simon and Penny are sitting on a plane. (It’s not a private one this time—his father wouldn’t allow it—and it’s unusual.) 

Simon snaps a picture and uploads it on the way to the palace. 

_ It’s been ages since I last saw @hrhbasilton so i’m very excited to be meeting him again in a few minutes! _

He receives a text from Baz almost the second he posted the picture. 

_ Snow, if you’re not actually here in a few minutes, I will personally imprison you for lying to the crown. _

_ i can’t do anything if your driver sucks at driving fast! will be there soon xoxo _

_ Do you even know what that means what you just wrote? _

Depending on the definition of “few”, they arrive in time. (Or not quite, because Baz is already waiting at the door.) (It’s not what you’d call a door, more like hinged doors or a whole gateway. It’s big.)

“Hiyah, Baz,” Simon calls and grins brightly.

“What even is the correct answer to that?,” Baz asks, holding out his hand. Simon fistbumps him, even though Baz doesn’t reciprocate it (seems like he was going for a high five or handshake.) 

“Maybe something like  _ Oh, welcome to my palace, darlin’, make yourself at home. All the food is yours. _ ”

“You’re horrible at imitating the British accent. I could throw you into the dungeon for that.”

Simon laughs and throws an arm around him. (He really has to grow, so it doesn’t look stupid anymore.) “You’ve threatened me with that so many times now, I doubt you’ll actually do it.”

“Is that a challenge?” 

Simon looks at him and sees the hint of a smirk. “Maybe.”

“You two are the absolute worst. I can’t believe I agreed to come along,” Penny huffs, catching up to them. 

Baz smiles at her. “Welcome to the palace,” he says and looks directly at Simon when he adds:  _ “Darling.” _

Simon rolls his eyes at him. 

Penny’s room is right next to his and Simon has the same as last time. Maybe he’ll be able to sleep better tonight. 

“Micah will joins us in a bit,” Baz says as he guides them to yet another room. “Do you want tea? Or, I assume, coffee?”

Simon nods. “Yes. Coffee would be nice.” 

“I’d like a cup of tea,” Penny says and as soon as Baz is gone, Simon nudges her.

“Trying to impress the Brits?”

She shakes her head and flops down on the couch. “I don’t need to impress them anymore.”

Simon wanders around the room. It’s very open with a lot of windows and therefore very bright. It seems to be some kind of hobby room, there’s a white grand piano and the couches look more expensive than all of Simon’s suits together. He stands by the piano when Baz returns, slowly running his fingers over it.

“Ah. I didn’t know you played,” Baz says and Simon looks up.

“Oh. I’m not.”

“I’m not going to play you something,” Baz says and hands Penny her tea. He settles down on an armchair next to Penny, which is rude, because now Simon has to walk to fetch his coffee himself.

“This is quite nice,” Penny says, looking around. “I thought you’d furnish it all more exquisite. Not this… simple.”

“Oh, don’t worry, everything else is really expensive and in-your-face,” Simon says and sits down on the couch next to her with his coffee. 

“The White House isn’t really less  _ in-your-face _ ,” Baz says, because he just  _ has _ to. Simon sends him a glare.

“Traditions.”

“As here,” Baz shrugs, but Simon can see the hint of a smile. They’re not really hostile right now, that’s good to know. No one has been offended. 

Simon has emptied half of his coffee when a servant appears at the door. “Your Royal Highness? It’s uh… your… friend.” 

Micah grins brightly as he steps past the servant and lifts the tray of cups. “Eeeyy! Good afternoon, lovelies!”

Simon can’t tell if the servant is more scandalized by his greeting, or the way he casually carries himself through a royal palace, or the fact that he brought Starbucks drinks even though they have a royal kitchen that works just fine. 

Simon absolutely loves Micah.

“One Mint Majesty for His Royal Highness, an Iced Caffè Americano for our American friend.” He winks at Simon as he hands him his drink and has moved on before Simon can say  _ thanks _ . 

“ Matcha Green Tea Crème Frappuccino for my lovely darling, here you go.” He sits down next to Penny and puts the drink holder aside.

“Well, aren’t you just an angel sent from heaven.” Baz smiles and leans forward. “Okay. Moving on to why we’re here.”

Simon frowns and gently kicks Baz’ shin. “What do you mean, I thought you invited us because you wanted to see me.” 

Baz raises an eyebrow at him and looks down at his leg. Right. Because Simon is touching his probably expensive suit with his dirty shoe. Well. 

“I’m currently considering if maybe inviting you at all might have been a mistake,” he says. 

“You don’t mean that,” Micah shrugs, sipping his iced tea. “He missed you,” he tells Simon and shoots him a meaningful look. 

Simon grins and looks back at Baz triumphantly, barely catching his glare at Micah, before Baz reschedules his expression and smiles politely. 

“It’s kind of a heavy topic,” he warns, “since it includes murder.” 

Penny beams. “Oh, I  _ love _ a good murder mystery!”

Baz nods. “I appreciate that. It’s about my mother.” 

“Oh!” Penny claps her hands and smiles at him. “Natasha. I really adore her. She was inspiring.”

“Penny!,” Simon huffs. 

“What? We’re working together now, aren’t we?” 

“Thank you,” Baz smiles. “I wish you could’ve met her. She was very loving.”

Micah smiles at him softly, so Simon does the same. 

“Anyway,” Baz starts again and sighs. “Okay. She was murdered. And… I want to know why.”

Penny nods excitedly. “A murder investigation. We’ll help.”

“Do we have a gameplan?,” Micah asks and Simon feels like he’s the only one, who isn’t as excited about a murder as they seem to be. Maybe he should pretend to be excited?

“Yes. One or two of us will talk to my aunt, and the others will do some research. In the royal library. I already discussed that all.”

“Oh, can I please go to the library?” 

Simon swears he hasn’t seen Penny this happy in ages. 

“Yeah, me too.” 

Baz frowns shortly. “In that case I need to inform you that making out in there probably isn’t very modest.” 

Micah sighs dramatically. “Well, there go my dreams.”

Penny chuckles and leans in, whispering something to him Simon can’t hear. But they’re both giggling to themselves and whispering now, and he looks over to Baz, catches him staring and they both look away. Now, that’s embarrassing.

“I uh… I guess I’ll talk to your aunt with you, then,” Simon says eventually and Baz nods.

“Yes. Good.” 

Simon can’t tell if it would be more awkward if he was alone with the couple, or if it’s more awkward because he and Baz  _ both  _ are the third wheel. Like a double date except they aren’t dating. Simon feels like they’re expected to be and maybe that’s why it feels so awkward.

Penny and Micah decide to not only visit the royal library but a few other library and archives in London and grab a coffee or two in between. Basically, they want to spend the whole day on dates. Which leaves Baz and Simon to talk to Fiona. (Simon still thinks she doesn’t like him.)

“There’s something more I need to tell you,” Baz says and he’s absently picking at the cushion of the armchair. “You won’t like it, but I need you to listen and not go off immediately.”

Simon nods, although he’s a little scared of what’s to come next. “Alright.”

“Well… Fiona suspects your father to be the murderer of my mother. Please don’t try to argue with her. It won’t help.”

Simon frowns at him. “What do you mean– my father isn’t a murderer!”

“And I’m not saying that,” Baz interrupts patiently. “I don’t think he is. But Fiona does, and she’ll argue with you if you disagree. Just… let her tell her version, alright?”

He grits his teeth and glares at Baz. “My father is no murderer.” 

“I know.” 

“He’s not.”

“Yes, Snow. I get it. Do you still want to talk to Fiona with me?”

Simon frowns deeply. “I’m not sure. My father’s not a murderer.”

Baz rubs his face. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to come with me,” he tells Simon.

“Yeah. Me neither. I guess I can also wait here? As long as you don’t send me to play third wheel for Penny and Micah, I should be fine.”

“Okay.” Baz hesitates, then pulls out his phone. He types a bit and shows it to Simon. “That’s the Wi-Fi. So you can google. Or… post instagram stories. Whatever you want to do. At least you’re not bored.”

Simon smiles brightly and quickly copies the password into his phone. “Cool! Thanks.” 

“Yeah… alright, don’t get too bored.”

Baz waves shortly as he leaves, which is so unnecessary it’s almost sweet, and Simon settles down on the couch. He has the royal Wi-Fi. 

That calls for an instagram story, so he takes a picture of the grand piano in the background and his Iced Americano in the foreground. 

_ left unsupervised by @hrhbasilton (thx for the coffee @micah610) _

He really should  _ not _ have been left unsupervised. He doesn’t even need the Wi-Fi, not really. When he’s done with his drink, he stops scrolling through instagram and instead wanders around the room, inspecting the art work and the walls closely. And then he sits at the grand piano, just because he can. He can’t play, but he can tap some of the keys. Eventually, he looks up some piano tutorials on YouTube. 

After a bit of trying to follow along, he notices that the song is still recognizable when he only play with his right hand, and that seems easier for now. 

He’s still trying to play it fluently, when Baz returns.

“I leave you alone for a minute and you immediately touch the grand piano,” he says instead of a greeting. “Is that Hedwig’s theme?”

“Oh, you recognized it?” Simon turns around to him and smiles brightly. 

Baz nods and sits down on the piano stool next to him. “Yes. It sounds the same as when I first started to play it.”

Simon grins. “So you’re good at it now?”

“Maybe I’ll still be able to play it.” Baz shifts a bit closer, so Simon makes some space. 

Baz is understating his talent, because  _ of course _ he’s still able to play it. Simon assumes he actually does practice piano more than he admits. 

“Do you want to know what her story is?”

Simon nods. “Yeah. Tell me.” Baz is still playing—it’s no longer Harry Potter music, but something else—so they both talk quietly. 

“According to her, my mother was murdered and David, your father, was the one responsible for it.”

“Did she name any… reasons?”

“She suggested that my mother might have known something about him he didn’t want the public to know.” 

Simon frowns. “I have no idea what that could be. Besides, that seems like a very weak motive for murder.”

Baz hums shortly and nods. “A little weak, yeah. I’m not sure how far he’d go. And how important those things he didn’t want anyone to know could’ve been.”

“Still doesn’t sound like my father. I can barely imagine him blackmailing someone. Oh, wait. No, I can imagine that.”

Baz looks at him and Simon catches him smiling before he looks back at the piano. “Do you mind if we go out for dinner?”

“What?” Like a date?

“To meet up with Penny and Micah. You don’t have to pay.”

“Like a… double date?”

Baz laughs quietly. It’s so soft and beautiful, Simon stares at him in awe until Baz looks back and Simon feels embarrassed and looks away. 

“Uh… sure. Why not?,” he mumbles. 

“Great. I’ll text Micah later.” 

Simon watches Baz’ fingers dance over the keys and notices just how beautiful they are. He really needs to stop thinking. 

It’s exactly as weird as Simon feared. They’re basically on a double date, except he and Baz aren’t dating and it’s  _ so awkward. _

But at least Micah and Penny seem to have fun. Simon wonders how they started dating. (He won’t ask. But he’s happy that they’re happy.)

Baz keeps looking over to him while they eat. It’s both weird and filling Simon’s heart with a warmth he can’t quite describe. 

After a while, they start to discuss their research results and it’s hard for Simon to listen. It still bugs him that Baz—or at least Baz’ aunt—thinks his father would be capable of killing a person. Especially to become president. (Simon doesn’t really know why his father decided to be a candidate.) 

“Simon?” 

He flinches a little and looks up. “Uh… sorry?”

“Is everything okay?” Baz is talking quietly and Simon looks over to Penny and Micah shortly. They seem to get along perfectly. (He really is happy for them.)

“Oh. Yeah. I was just… enjoying the food.”

“Ah.” Baz smiles a little. “Of course. Future baker, huh?” 

Simon grins a little. “Exactly. Did you make any progress?”

“Very little. I think I’ll drop it for today.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” 

They watch Penny and Micah act all couple-y and after a while Baz pulls out his phone and they take a few silly selfies. Baz uploads one where they pull a bored and annoyed expression to instagram and they huddle close to look at his phone when he writes the caption. 

_ Being third wheels on a date would be way less fun alone. @simonsnow @micah610 @penelopebunce _

Baz and Simon order twice as much dessert as Micah and Penny together and they’re still done faster than the couple. It’s impressive how much they manage to distract each other. 

  
  


When he’s lying in bed a few hours later, Simon is scrolling through the comments under Baz’ post. Quite a huge number of people suggest they date each other in order to be less bored and he really can’t argue with that logic. 

Out of sheer curiosity he scrolls through his chat with Penny to find that one link she sent him in April. About why he and Baz are probably dating.

To his surprise, it seems to be a fairly regularly updated list of reasons. 

** _Why I believe that Simon and Baz are dating_ **

  * _the wedding disaster. the way they look at each other while they’re both soaked in champagne. actual married couple_
  * the instagram posts:
  * #brodate (you can’t tell me that isn’t because the crown/white house censors their relationship)
  * the blue heart (I’m 99.9999% certain it’s an insider and it’s so adorable. someone send me blue hearts, please)
  * in addition to that: the whale (possibly another insider. still sweet.)
  * and he called him precious! 
  * simon literally said he’ll miss baz. I’m pretty sure there’s more implied
  * not to mention that he took a picture of him while he left
  * literally all of simon’s comments under baz’ posts
  * special mention to “what colour do you want your bedsheets” (seriously, what kind of question is that??)
  * also, baz saying he can’t wait to see simon again (state dinner post)
  * the whole five minutes of the interview were just them gushing over each other? and they were so comfortable around each other? (y’all haters try to explain THAT if they’ve only been friends since the royal wedding)
  * literally the way they stare at each other on those weekend™ pictures (esp when the other isn’t looking & especially baz)
  * they’re literally constantly touching somehow
  * the fact that simon apparently records long audios and baz listens to every single one
  * baz mentioning simon in interviews even though it’s totally unrelated?
  * baz not mentioning simon in interviews anymore & simon dating a girl?? (relationship trouble? they’ve reportedly not talked much in the past weeks?)
  * okay it’s all good people!! simon is on the way to visit baz and “very excited” to see him!!
  * simon being left alone in the palace (probably just for a few minutes while his boyfriend picks smth up. we know he’s a drama queen)
  * simon and baz both third wheeling while on a double date?? (i can only agree to all the comments. boys, just date each other.) (I’m pretty sure they’re already dating and it’s just censorship again)

Simon frowns. First of all, he is absolutely  _ not  _ a drama queen. If anyone is one, it’s Baz. The next thing he realises is that he doesn’t mind the terminology boyfriend as much as he probably used to. 

And what is that one thing about Baz staring at him when he’s not looking supposed to mean? 

_ Snow _

_ Are you still awake? _

It’s a really funny coincidence that Baz texts him just in this moment. Or maybe it isn’t? How high are the chances that Baz just read through the same post? 

_ yes. why? _

_ Do you want to go somewhere? _

_ it’s like midnight _

_ Exactly. We could sneak out and just wander around. Basically anonymous? _

_ okay. when and where? _

_ I’ll pick you up at your room in ten. _

Simon climbs out of the bed and quickly puts on his shoes and a hoodie. It may be August, but it’s probably rather cold outside at night anyway. He can’t believe he’s really about to sneak out. In the middle of the night. With Baz. 

It must be a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so much for reading!   
I'm hoping to give this fic a worthy ending, but we'll see how it goes, as I'm not very familiar with US-elections.


	12. About Midnight Concerts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's email time!!
> 
> Hi! First of all, I'm sorry for not uploading in months (again.)  
I'll try to upload the last few chapters without too many breaks in between, but no promises!
> 
> And second: I hope you're all holding up well. Stay safe and healthy everyone!

They sneak past the guard which is harder than when Baz does it alone, simply because Snow can’t really stop giggling. 

“We’re going to get caught if you don’t shut up,” Baz hisses quietly and pulls Snow into a corner. “Shut up.” 

“Why don’t you make me?,” Snow grins, so Baz holds his hand to his mouth to silence his breathing. 

Baz thinks he imagines a dulled  _ not like that _ coming from Snow, but he’s pretty sure his ears are playing tricks on his mind.

He waits until he’s certain the way is clear and then he guides them out of the palace.

Baz is pulling him along as they’re running over the lawns and they’re holding hands. The fact that Snow hasn’t pulled his back yet seems to be a good sign. 

“Hey, you know what I just read a few minutes earlier? There are actually people who think that we're dating. And that we're relationship goals. Isn't that funny? Here, I'll show you.” Snow stops and starts to search for his phone with his free hand. (Who takes his phone to a midnight date?) (It’s actually rather clever. Maybe Baz should’ve brought his.) (Is this a date?)

Baz nods, acting as if he doesn't know what kind of posts Snow is referring to. “That’s very… funny.”

“They totally freaked out when everyone thought I was dating Agatha again.”

Baz frowns. “Well… I’ve been meaning to ask,  _ are  _ you dating her?”

“No. I’m not.” Snow chuckles. “She’s aro. I just met her to ask for advice.”

“You… can’t just out people like that,” Baz says carefully.

Snow frowns. “Huh. Right. I need to stop doing that. I’m sorry.”

“It can be very dangerous.”

He grimaces. “Yes. I can imagine. If someone else told my father while I was trying to keep it a secret… not to imagine.” 

“Okay,” Baz sighs. “Well… here we are.”

“Yes. Ooh.” 

Baz looks at Snow, who’s staring up at the sky with fascination. 

“Look, we can see the stars.”

“Yes. Nice, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely beautiful.” 

Snow squeezes his hand lightly and Baz swallows. Is this a date for Snow as well?

“It is,” Baz agrees, but he can’t look away from Snow. 

The moon is shining down on them, highlighting Snow’s curls and his face. Baz doesn’t have to look at the stars when he can look at Snow’s freckles instead. 

“You’re not looking,” Snow says and Baz feels his face warm up at being caught staring. 

“I was.” 

“Not at the sky.” Snow is grinning a little and bumps his shoulder into Baz arm. 

“But at something beautiful,” Baz mumbles.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

“You said something, I saw it.” Snow grins and lets go of his hand, which is disappointing, to poke his side.

“No, I did not.” Baz squirms away from the touch. 

“What did you bring your violin for?,” Snow asks curiously. “Will you give me a private show?”

“If you’re being nice,” Baz grins and continues walking. “C’mon. I’ll show you a nice place.”

They walk through the garden for a while, no longer holding hands. (Baz is a little bit disappointed about it.)

“Is this… a memorial?,” Snow asks quietly. 

“Yes. My mother’s.” Baz hesitates. “If it’s too… morbid for you, we can go somewhere else.”

He can feel Snow watching him. “No. No, it’s alright. I like it.” He smiles and Baz sighs relieved. 

“I like being here. It’s a nice place. Wait.” He walks a few steps away, to a little patch of grass. “Come over here.”

“Oh, this really is nice.” Snow smiles and Baz takes off his jacket and lays it down. 

“Here you go. Get comfortable. Any song wishes?”

“Hm… can you play Harry Potter?” Snow settles down on Baz’ jacket and watches him as he unpacks his violin. 

“Yes. It would be a pleasure.” He grins at him and Snow rolls his eyes at Baz’ choice of words.

He plays a few other movie soundtrack pieces after Harry Potter and then he plays some more modern pieces and some very old classics. 

Snow’s favourite seems to be Queen’s  _ Don’t Stop Me Now _ because he asks Baz to play it again. 

“Seems like all your time wasted on violin practice was well spent,” Snow says and Baz takes it as a compliment. (Even though he did just perfectly perform multiple songs without sheets for Snow. He’d deserve more than such a not-quite compliment.)

Baz sits down next to Snow and carefully stores his violin back in the bag. 

“Then it wasn’t wasted, was it?,” he grins and Snow tilts his head thoughtfully. (It’s cuter than it should be.)

“Earlier, when we were sitting at the piano… do you know what I was thinking of?”

Baz lies back on the jacket. “What?”

“That one scene in Bohemian Rhapsody. Where he played  _ Love of My Life _ and they kissed.” 

Baz closes his eyes and nods. “I know which one you mean.”

Is this a hint? Is Snow trying to get his permission for a kiss? Or is Baz just wishing for unrealistic things?

“Yeah…” Snow shifts a bit and Baz glances at him without really opening his eyes. Are they making it more awkward than it has to be? 

Snow slowly lies down next to him and Baz can feel him staring. “Is this a date?” 

The question is so quiet, Baz isn’t sure he actually caught it. 

“If you want it to be.”

“No, look. Please don’t do that. I want to know what this is for you, not what you’d call it for me.”

Baz frowns, because he isn’t quite sure if it makes sense, but somehow it  _ does _ .

“Yes,” he answers, though hesitantly so, “it’s a date for me.”

“Cool.” 

“Cool?”

“Yeah. I was thinking the same. Which one is it?” 

Baz opens his eyes and turns his head to face him. “Which one? The first.”

“Are you sure? The internet suggests–”

“Screw the internet. It doesn’t decide our actions.”

“I wouldn’t be too certain about that,” Snow shrugs and grins at him. It’s the best, honestly. “Maybe it decides my actions. Without that list I would have never thought you’d possibly like me.” 

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. Do you wish I was?”

“I told Micah. I literally told– I said to him, ‘Simon wouldn’t even understand it if I directly told him I love him.’ I told him and I was  _ right. _ ”

“Wait, you love me?”

“Snow–”

Snow just chuckles and then he cups Baz’ face and kisses him. 

“I got it now,” he whispers and Baz’ thoughts are just spinning and spinning and  _ Simon Snow just kissed him what the fuck is going on _ .

“Hey,” Snow says softly and maybe Baz should start calling him Simon in his head? “Was that not what you wanted?”

Baz watches him and a slow smile spreads on his lips. “Do it again,” he mutters and Snow– Simon does. 

Baz kisses him back this time, moving his lips against Simon’s. He buries a hand in those ridiculous curls, like he’s wanted to for years. Simon melts under his touch, and Baz is pretty sure he’s doing the same. One of Simon’s hands pushes into his hair and then he rolls himself on top of Baz, leaning down like he did that night they were so very drunk. 

Baz pulls him in, again and again, chasing his lips until he’s out of breath and then he watches him tiredly, fingers tracing the constellations on Simon’s face.

Simon’s smile is bright and beautiful and he leans into Baz’ touch and closes his eyes. 

“Are you cold?,” Baz asks quietly and Simon looks at him with his blue eyes and his slightly pink lips. Baz wants to kiss them again, so he does. 

“Are you suggesting we go back inside?” 

“Yes.” This time it’s Simon kissing him. 

“Only if our ways don’t part quite yet.” 

Another kiss.

“I hope not.” Baz smirks and Simon sits up, sliding off Baz’ legs. 

“Then yes. I’m cold.” 

It’s a miracle that they make it back to Baz’ room unseen and unheard. Simon is giggling more than on the way out and Baz keeps hushing him quietly. They tumble into his room, door falling closed behind them, and Baz can’t tell who’s more eager to kiss again. They both are, probably.

He gently guides Simon to his couch while Simon keeps kissing him and they fall down. Simon stops to giggle some more and leans back. 

“That’s maybe the favourite date I’ve ever had,” he says and tilts his head ever so slightly, but it makes Baz’ heart beat faster. 

“Because you’re kissing your rival?” He climbs onto the couch and smirks at him.

“Because I got a private performance.” Simon reaches out and Baz catches his hand. “And we’re no longer rivals, you dumbass.”

“You can’t insult me.” 

Simon pulls at his arm and Baz falls forward. He manages to hold himself up with his free hand before he crashes right into Snow. What an idiot.

“I just did.” 

“I’ve heard.” 

Simon smirks and lifts his head enough to kiss him. There’s this interesting new confidence he suddenly shows. Maybe because he knows how kissing works. Maybe because he doesn’t have to be afraid of doing things wrong. (Not that Baz would mind it. It’s hard for him to stop loving that American idiot.)

It’s not a wild night, by any means. They tumble around the couch, kissing until their lips are sore and then they lie there on top of each other with their legs tangled up, staring at each other and the ceiling and talking quietly. 

There’s this quiet fear of his that they’ll be caught, but he also knows it’s irrational. Why would anyone walk into his room in the middle of the night? The only person he could imagine doing it is Snow, and he’s already there. 

They have not discussed what exactly they are now. Simon spent the night on his couch and Baz moved over to his bed when it got too narrow for him. He’s always wanted to sleep with Snow in his arms—or in Snow’s arms—but the couch is not the best place for it. 

“Wake up, Snow.”

Simon turns and glares at him. His hair is all messed up—Baz’ is probably too—but he’s smiling a little. 

“Mornin’.” 

“Good morning. Get up.” 

“You can’t be nicer, can you?”

Baz smiles and leans down to him, kissing his nose. “No. We have a secret to keep.” 

Simon sits up and stretches. Baz tries not to look at his bare navel when the shirt skids up and fails miserably.

He turns away and picks up Snow’s hoodie, throwing it at him. “Here. You should go back to your room and get dressed.” 

“Maybe we should post a picture.”

Baz frowns at him. “Then we might as well just come out.” 

“No, not that we’re– just, that we’re having fun. Later. At breakfast?”

“Okay. Fine. But first you’ll go to your room and get dressed.” Baz hesitates. “Do you know the way?”

“Of course.” Simon gets up and stops in front of him. 

“Well, don’t get caught,” Baz mumbles and turns to his closet to pick out a suit. 

He can hear Simon huff out a breath and then the door opens and closes again. Baz rests his forehead against the closet door and closes his eyes. What has he gotten himself into? And what exactly does that make them?

They still haven’t discussed what exactly they are now and how they’ll handle it when Simon and Penny have to go back to America. It freaks Baz out a little bit. (They haven’t kissed more either, which is kind of Baz’ fault, because he didn’t initiate it and then they were around people.)

So instead of talking to Snow about it, which he probably should be doing, he talks to Micah. 

Because Micah talks to him. 

Baz really isn’t too interested in other people’s relationships, but Micah is his best friend, so he’ll listen. (And he does want to know what’s going on in Micah’s life, and relationships are a part of that.) Plus, it’s always nice to see Micah talking about something that makes him happy—he literally beams and it’s so adorable. 

In return he tells him about the date with Snow. He barely leaves out details, and in hindsight he wishes he had. 

Micah keeps nudging him with his foot, demanding more details and Baz hides his face in his pillow. 

“Why didn’t you take him to your bed? You could’ve easily slept in his arms here.” 

“It’s not like I was able to  _ think _ while Snow was kissing my lips sore.”

“Your lips look fine to me, stop being dramatic. You could’ve just asked him if he wants to switch to the bed. Easy.”

“Oh my god,” Baz mumbles and turns around. “The subtext was too risky to even suggest something like that.”

“Just because you assumed his mind would be as dirty as yours.”

“Excuse you.” Baz throws his pillow at Micah. “My mind is totally normal.”

Micah grins and leans over to him. “Is it though?”

“Shut up.” 

Micah tosses the pillow back at Baz and it falls down at the side of the bed. “Oh.”

“Well, I’m not going to pick that up.”

“Alright, your royal laziness.” Micah climbs over him and Baz is convinced he doesn’t hit him in the stomach with his knee entirely on accident. 

“What do I do now?” Baz throws his arm over his face.

“Well, you call him and discuss it. Or you text. Or you write an email. Or even a letter, if you’re feeling fancy.” Baz turns his face and looks at Micah, who has rested his chin on the bed next to Baz’ face. “Why are you looking so done right now? Those were great suggestions.”

"For you maybe. It’s… not easy to talk to Snow.”

Micah touches Baz’ face. “Now, give him more credit. He’s trying. Be glad he even likes boys. Or… well, you.”

“Now you’re just being rude,” Baz huffs and shoves his hand away. 

In the end, Baz does take Micah’s advice and writes Snow an email. 

**About Midnight Concerts**

**B** <tbgp@kensingtonemail.com>

to Simon

Snow,

I’m guessing you know what this is about. 

We’ve been on the same page that our… relationship has to stay a secret. It’s better that way.

But is it a relationship? What even are we— Excuse me for being so blunt.

I do not know why I thought writing an email would be easier. (It’s not.)

I apologize for avoiding you these last days. I’ve been trying to figure out what we do now, that my wish of kissing you has been fulfilled. I will text you back in a bit. 

Baz

  
  


Funnily enough Simon replies to his email rather than his text message. And it doesn’t take him long, either, even though he must be in class. 

  
  


**Re: About Midnight Concerts**

**Simon ** <simonsalisbury@salisbury45.com>

to B

Baz,

I can assure you, you’re not worse than me. And you even apologize for not answering. Couldn’t be me.

Honestly? I’ve been lying awake in bed a lot recently, wondering the same. Does it make us boyfriends? I guess it does make us friends. 

I agree that I should be a secret. It’s bad enough my father doesn’t like the thought of me dating boys, I don’t want to find out what happens if he knows I’m dating one.

We are dating, aren’t we? I feel like that’s an obvious question. But does dating make us boyfriends? I don’t even know if you’d want to be boyfriends. I wouldn’t mind, I guess.

If you want to fulfill your wish of kissing again, please do tell me and we can arrange a meeting. It would make me very happy.

Simon (that’s my name, by the way.)

  
  


Baz is so fucking done with Snow.  _ That’s my name _ , as if Baz doesn’t know. Snow knows that Baz likes to call him Snow. But maybe Snow did like it when he called him Simon.

And then, he  _ wouldn’t mind _ being boyfriends? That’s sweet, but what does it  _ mean?  _ Are they boyfriends now? Why is dating so complicated?

He knows who he could ask, but he will absolutely not do that. Micah would only laugh at him and then be amused about Simon’s answer and say something like  _ isn’t he the sweetest, no wonder you like him so much. _

  
  


They do agree on the term  _ boyfriends _ after a few rather short emails that could have easily been sent per text message. It feels positively strange to have someone to call boyfriend. Even though he can’t do it openly it’s still a good feeling. 

There’s that looming shadow over them, and Baz doesn’t mean the monarchy or the public—although they’re not on their side either—and he feels like it might ruin that bit of peace and love they can share within their emails and texts and calls. 

It’s his mother’s murder. 

Baz is determined to find out what exactly happened and for the sake of his relationship he does actually hope that Fiona is wrong. 

The investigating alone seems to strain their relationship. Everytime the topic comes up or might come up, Baz can feel the conversation tensing, even if they’re texting.

Nevertheless, Simon still helps him. He sends him email updates whenever he or Penny found out something new.

**I’ve been talking again**

**Simon ** <simonsalisbury@salisbury45.com>

to B

Dear Baz, 

I’ve been talking to my mom about your mom and it did not go as well as hoped. 

Apparently she doesn’t know too much, especially related to the murder. 

Here’s what she could tell me:

She never knew Natasha personally, but she did hang out with Fiona (wild, isn’t it? To think they know each other.)

She also spent a lot of time with the Petty siblings. (FYI: Ebb (you should know her) and Nico. They also know Fiona, apparently. It’s funny how everyone seems to know each other.)

Before you ask, yes, I’m planning to talk to Ebb and no, I have never heard of Nico before. I hope Ebb will tell me about her brother. 

So, my mom wasn’t too helpful. She did mention that Nico didn’t quite like your mother though, because I think there was something with him and your aunt that your mother didn’t approve of? Don’t ask me. My mom couldn’t quite explain it either. 

Penny has talked to her parents as well, but she wasn’t really successful either. Her father didn’t know them much and her mother only talked about my parents, so yeah. 

(Penny does say that her mother doesn’t quite like my father though, so I feel like Mitali and Fiona would get along great.)

Then there’s my other uncle, my mom’s brother, who I haven’t talked to yet, but I will. Maybe he knows more. (He doesn’t like my father either, so there’s that. I feel like he’ll gladly agree with Fiona.)

In other news, I’ve been missing you. I know you know about that, but I wanted to put it out there. 

I miss you very badly and it’s fucking unfair that I don’t get to see you until– when exactly? 

See, we don’t even have something to look forward to. We’ve had like what, a few kisses, one night? That’s it. And we haven’t had the chance to kiss since we’ve agreed to be boyfriends, which is just the unfairest thing of all. 

I want to kiss you again. And again and again. And next night, you will not leave and I will sleep in your arms the way you’ve dreamt of. (Or perhaps you will sleep in mine. I can imagine that better, but I doubt you’ll let me.)

Love, Simon

  
  
  


**Re: I’ve been talking again**

**B** <tbgp@kensingtonemail.com>

to Simon

Dear Snow,

It’s nice to hear you’re missing me. I’ve been missing you, too. 

I cannot tell if it’s harder to think I could never have you and admire you from a distance, or to know I have you but I cannot touch you, no matter how much I yearn to, for distance and monarchy keep us apart. 

I can assure you, it doesn’t matter to me at all whether I will be sleeping in your arms or you in mine, I just wish to share a bed with you. 

It is about time we see each other again—you are right, it has been far too long. 

I will ask Fiona about Nico. And Ebb. And maybe also your mother, since they knew each other? (I suppose through Ebb. I assume your mother is a little bit older than Fiona is.)

I’ve been thinking about creating a spreadsheet about this whole mystery. Maybe I’ll propose it to the group and see what Micah and Penny think of that idea. 

As far as I’ve understood it now, we have three generations, each only a few years apart from the others.

My mother– Natasha

Your mother– Lucy, your father– Davy and Penny’s mother– Mitali (perhaps her father as well?)

Nico, Ebb and Fiona

I wonder what that’s about. And where your uncle fits in there. I’ll create a mindmap later to see who knows whom. 

Simon. I miss you dearly and there isn’t a night that passes where I don’t dream about your lips. I feel like I know your freckles by heart and when we see each other again, I will kiss every single one. 

Baz


	13. Of suits and lonely nights

Simon decides to talk to Ebb first, since he doesn’t know when he will see his uncle again. He’s not coming over too often, since he still lives in California. 

He never knows how to bring up her brother—he barely knew she had one until recently. (He  _ did _ know she had one, but he never really thought about what exactly it means.)

Ebb offers him tea and then coffee and Simon sits down. There’s a huge pile of paperwork on her desk.

“I’m not interrupting your work, am I?”

“I was taking a break. You’re just in time. How can I help you?”

Simons sighs and sits up straight in the chair. “I’ve been doing some research on the death of Natasha Grimm-Pitch.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Did you know her?”

“I know her sister. We were never really close, I assume, back in the day when Natasha was still alive.”

Simon nods. “Okay… and your brother? I heard he was.”

“Yes. He was rather close to Fiona before they stopped hanging out at all. It was for the better.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, first of all, Natasha didn’t really approve of their relationship. I remember Nico complaining about her to me. He’d never find what he was looking for in our conversations, so he turned to Davy eventually. It was convenient, they would spend time together and I would spend time with your mother while we were working on Davy’s campaign. Well, Davy was working on it. I think Lucy only helped because he asked her to, but she was never officially involved.”

Simon nods. “Yes, but do you know when Nico stopped seeing Fiona?”

“A little before Natasha died, I think. Maybe… In January 2009.”

“So… after the election.” 

“Yes. Exactly. Nico was always a little special.” 

“How so?,” Simon asks, even though he feels like this won’t help him much in his research. But it’s always nice to talk to Ebb and listen to the stories she tells. 

“Ah, you know. Always a little dark, a little….  _ disturbed _ , that’s what the people would say.” She shrugs. “He was my brother. I loved him anyways.”

Simon frowns. Now, that’s interesting. “Dark?”

“You know. Interested in medieval medicine and torture methods. Apparently it was quite enjoyable to learn about.”

“Uh… I bet. What did he do? With his life, I mean.”

“I’m not quite sure. I think he worked with cars and then some other jobs. Here a bit and there a bit. We lost contact when Natasha died. A little earlier. Around the time he stopped seeing Fiona. He was around Davy a little longer, but at some point he just wasn’t anymore and we haven’t had contact since.”

Simon frowns. That’s incredibly weird and suspicious. But he won’t tell Fiona, of course.

And he doesn’t know if he wants to tell Baz yet. Because Baz will blame his father again and Simon is pretty sure his father wouldn’t have killed anyone. 

“Hey– since when are you married?” It’s a wonder, honestly, that Simon hasn’t noticed the ring before. It’s subtle and not very spectacular, but Ebb usually doesn’t wear any jewellery. 

“Oh.” She smiles and shrugs. “A bit. April.” 

“That’s why you weren’t on duty at the State Dinner!”

“Yes.”

“Oh, who is it? Do I know him? Wait– do I know  _ her?”  _

Ebb smiles faintly. “I’m not going to tell you who my wife is.”

“Why? It’s not like I’ll tell anyone.”

“We both know you will. And now I’ve got work to do.”

Simon gets up. “Who is it, who is it, who is it?”

“Hush, Simon. you’re dismissed.”

“I will figure it out.”

“I’m certain you will.” Ebb doesn’t sound like she believes in it, which is just rude.

He doesn’t feel like he has accomplished much after that meeting, but he writes all the information Ebb has given him down for later. Maybe he’ll send an email to Baz later and provide those new information. Maybe he’ll do it tomorrow. 

Simon can’t tell if he’s more nervous about asking his father or his uncle. His father, probably, and mostly because there’s no guarantee he’ll even answer. 

(Or tell the truth, as Baz suggests. He told Simon multiple times not to believe anyone’s story too much, but it’s hard for Simon not to believe the people he’s known for so long.)

Maybe he’ll just avoid it for a bit longer. Since his father is kind of ignoring him anyway,

  
  


**Of suits and lonely nights...**

**Simon ** <simonsalisbury@salisbury45.com>

to B 

Dear Baz, 

You’re killing me. I absolutely mean it. I know for a fact that no one monitors what you post on instagram, but honestly, they should. I’m not going to argue that you’re probably the hottest person out there, but you don’t have to show it to the whole world. As your boyfriend I do demand some exclusivity. Anyways, nice suit. I wish to take it off.

It’s time we meet again. I can’t believe we still haven’t met again? Any chance we can make up a reason to meet? Anything? 

Every night without you is a night too long. We’ve been apart for ages and I can’t stand it much longer. 

I’m thinking about you. 

Every night I lie in bed, I imagine you next to me and I’ll brush your hair out of your face. Then I’ll kiss you. And I’ll kiss you again, and again, until we’re tired and fall asleep tangled up in each other. 

And we’d wake up like that too. You’d be watching me sleep, like the creep you are, and then you’d wake me with kisses and we’d make out some more until breakfast.

I have no news. I’m still hesitant to bring up the whole topic to my father. He’s still not really paying attention to me. I think I disappointed him, but I can’t think of what it is that I’ve done wrong this time.

Usually, he doesn’t avoid me for this long… 

I’ve been thinking about that night almost non-stop since I had to leave again. And I can’t believe you’ve had a crush on me for years. That’s so embarrassing. 

Have you ever thought about history? And this whole thing? Are you aware we’re writing history right now? One day, people our age will learn about us in class. Isn’t that weird?

Yours dearly, Simon

  
  
  


**Re: Of suits and lonely nights...**

**B** <tbgp@kensingtonemail.com>

to Simon

Snow,

if you don’t rip off the suit I’m wearing the next time we meet, I do not want that meeting. 

Now you’ve giving me fantasies… I’ll be dreaming of that and it’s all your fault. 

I’ll be dreaming about pre-breakfast make outs too, now, all your fault. 

You’re a little poet if you want to, aren’t you? I think you’re doing it to make my life harder. 

Please never stop. It’s incredible soothing to know I’m not the only one thinking like that.

Good news! Micah has a fundraiser event in San Francisco end of August, so if you want, I’ll put you and a plus-one on the list. (Or he’ll do it, obviously, since it’s his event. And I’m afraid that plus-one will have to be Penny. Or maybe he’s already invited her? Anyway, we could meet there… if you want. Make out in the hotel and all. Sounds good?)   
To convince you further, I will tell you the following: 

  * You will absolutely be allowed to take off my suit. I’m looking forward to it and you should, too. 
  * If you want, we can even sleep in each others arms. That would be another dream coming true. 
  * We will be making out. That means you get to kiss me again.
  * We will see each other, come on, as if that isn’t reason enough?

I don’t want to sound desperate here, because I shouldn’t, but there’s not a single reason for you to say no. Please do agree to come. I’m missing you so much, it hurts. Each minute without you is torture. 

Pardon my words, but your father sucks. He has no reason to avoid you because he’s disappointed you like boys or because you forgot to make coffee. He’s overly dramatic and you shouldn’t care too much. There are more important things in your life than a presidential candidate acting like a five-year-old. 

You’re so right. 

We are writing history, just now. Every moment we live, every breath we take. This is our present but it will be the future’s history. 

They will learn about us in class. They’ll read about our friendship, how it blossomed more and more ever since the royal wedding disaster. And some day historians will find our emails and they’ll say “Ah yes. The First Son and the Crown Prince. How close they were. Such good friends.” 

And the email will have said something like “I cannot wait to be with you again, feel your tender skin under my lips as I undo you, part by part. I love you like I don’t even love myself and I wish to be with you, but everything keeps us apart.”

And they will think to themselves “Ah. Such great friends. There’s absolutely nothing gay about this. Just bros being bros.”

But I want the future to know, if they find these emails—it is so incredibly gay and we could not be less straight. 

And Simon, I want you to know that we’re a fucking tragedy. We’re the tragedy of our time and maybe we will survive it. 

I’m not sure if surviving is worth it, if it means I have to marry a woman.

I love you more than I love myself and if you’ll let me, I’ll be your fucking tragedy until the end of the world.

Baz 

PS: How is my crush embarrassing? We’re dating. We’re snogging. What the heck.  _ You’re  _ embarrassing, but heaven, do I love you.

  
  
  


**Re: Re: Of suits and lonely nights…**

**Simon ** <simonsalisbury@salisbury45.com>

to B

So, you’re calling me a poet and then you go ahead and write stuff like  _ that _ ? End me already.

You already are a fucking tragedy, but I’ll happily let you be mine. 

I want to change the world as it is now, I want to make a difference. I want to lie on my deathbed and look back at what I– what  _ we  _ have accomplished.

I want the world and the future to know that we have been making history. That our lives were worth living and that it was so freaking glorious. 

(I want to quote a song here, but not entirely accurate, because I can’t.) 

When I think about us and what we have, I know that we’ll go down in history. And we will be remembered, I promise you that. They will remember us for centuries. 

I strongly believe we can make a difference. We just have to figure out how. 

But look at Micah. He’s doing it already. We’re surrounded by people like us, Baz, they want to make a change as well, and I believe that we can do it. If we stand together, I absolutely, firmly believe that we can bring change.

Maybe save the world. Maybe make it safer for our descendants. 

All I’ve ever wanted was to make the world a better place.

With you by my side, I think I can do it.

I love you and I will very definitely see you in San Francisco. I will hold you by your word and I will take off your suit. That is a promise.

Love, Simon

  
  
  


_ Snow, you’re absolutely killing me. You’re literally the sweetest person on this earth. I know you’ll make a change. Your pure existence already has a positive impact on the world, on my world. I cannot fucking wait to see you.  _

_ i love you too, baz _

_ So, we’re really seeing each other? I didn’t dream that last mail? _

_ nooo, i’m coming there. if you’re not wearing a nice suit, i’ll be disappointed _

_ I’ll wear my most colourful suit. So you know I’m gay. _

_ you literally never shut up about it y’know _

_ Rude. What will you wear? _

_ shirts and jeans, i guess? i can wear a fancy suit too, if you want ;) _

  
  


Penny has of course been invited by Micah already, and she laughs at Simon and Baz for thinking she wouldn’t be the first one on the list, which is just rude.

They’re on a plane together. Baz and Micah have already arrived in San Francisco, but since they have a shorter way, Penny and Simon left later. 

“I really cannot wait to see what they’ve planned,” Penny says excitedly. Simon assumed she’s only in it to see Micah, but turns out she’s very genuinely and passionately interested in what he does, too. (Simon can’t blame her. He supposes if Baz was dressing as extravagant as Micah and did some cool party fundraisers, he’d be way more into it as well.) (Not to say he isn’t into Baz, which he very obviously is. He can’t deny it any longer.)

The hotel is a nice one. Penny and Simon have separate rooms, and so do Baz and Micah, but Simon still feels like they’ll only be needing two of those four rooms. He’s not going to say it. 

Baz looks absolutely stunning. Simon is unable to talk for a moment when he sees him, he just stares.

“Close your mouth, Snow.”

He really wishes they’d be in private and he could tell Baz how ridiculously hot he looks. Instead, he closes his mouth and they fistbump. 

“Nice to see you again,” Simon says. It’s so incredibly awkward. Yet again they have to pretend to be friends. Somehow it seems harder this time. 

Even though it’s an absolute delight to spend the evening with Penny and Micah, Simon and Baz are quick to sneak off to Baz’ room at the first opportunity that presents itself. 

They’ve been chatting and making small talk all evening, so it’s nice to have some time alone. Especially since it’s been weeks since they’ve had the chance.

“I can’t believe you’re really wearing the most gorgeous suit.”

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Baz smirks. “Are you having a hard time not to help me out of it just yet?”

“Admittedly, yes. It’s hard. But I’m not about to undress you in an elevator. I do prefer some more privacy.”

Simon is in fact so paranoid that they stand two feet apart. Just to be sure. Even though it’s a lot of disciplinary work not to touch Baz. Not to take his hand or kiss him senseless. Simon absolutely cannot wait for them to finally be in the safety of Baz’ room. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this, in all honesty,” Baz says quietly and Simon looks at him.

“You have?”

“Yes. I’m not proud of it—it’s embarrassing, if you will.”

Simon pokes his side. “Because it left you all hot and bothered, didn’t it?”

Baz raises an eyebrow at him, but his eyes betray him. “And because I’ve been waking up feeling lonelier than ever. Promise you will be there tomorrow, when I wake up.”

Simon smiles and oh, how badly he wants to take his hand right now. “I promise. If you don’t steal the blanket.”

“I feel like you’re more likely to steal it.”

“That’s rude,” Simon huffs and finally,  _ finally _ , the elevator stops and they walk down the hallway until they’ve reached Baz’ room.

It takes him forever to open the door, and when they’re inside, he walks around the room to close all the curtains. Maybe, Simon thinks, they’re both equally paranoid. The thought is utterly comforting and he smiles.

“What makes you so happy?,” Baz asks and walks back to him. 

Simon reaches out, standing up on his toes. “You.” 

He kisses him and it feels like coming home. 

Baz seems to be just as desperate as he is for some affection and he kisses him back eagerly. 

Simon’s back hits a wall—it doesn’t hurt, it’s just surprising—and he takes a sharp breath, then Baz kisses him again. Maybe  _ Baz _ wants to kiss him senseless. That’s all fine. As long as they don’t stop. 

Simon’s fingers work at the tie, his right hand up in Baz’ hair, pulling him in closer by the neck. Baz’ hands are cupping his face, then at his hips, his shoulders pushing him back against the wall and Simon closes his eyes, enjoying it. He’s so into it. He can’t think at all. 

He manages to pull the tie away, working at the buttons of Baz’ suit and then he feels Baz’ fingers slipping under his shirt and trailing over his stomach. It feels nice and Simon has to stop kissing him for a moment just to enjoy it.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers, watching Baz. His head is dipped forward and his eyes are still shut and he looks so beautiful with his lips slightly parted like this and his hair falling into his face. 

Simon smiles and raises his chin a bit, pressing his nose into Baz’ cheek. He feels him relaxing almost immediately and turns his head to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

“I love you,” Baz breathes, eyes still closed. It catches Simon a little bit off guard and he slowly drops his hands. 

“You do?”

Baz looks at him, sincere and determined. “Yes. I have for a very long time. I was under the impression I’ve told you already.” 

“No. Yes, maybe. Not in person.” Simon smiles lopsided. “It’s different in person.”

“I know.” Baz pulls his hand away from Simon’s hips and lifts them up to his face again. “But it’s true. I love you even more than I love myself and I will never love anyone as much as I love you.”

Simon grins a little as he recognizes the words from the email. “Aren’t we the best friends the world has ever seen?” He gently pulls him closer again and Baz almost collapses against him. “Just bros being bros.” 

“Simon Snow Salisbury, you’re an idiot.” But Baz is smiling, so it really can’t have been too idiotic.

“You love it.”

“I’m so into it.” He grins and kisses Simon, gentle this time and Simon thinks his heart may stop. 

He manages to pull off Baz’ suit jacket and the shirt he wears underneath and by then they’re on the bed, tumbling around like the lovesick teenagers they are. (Although there’s no way they can still be called teenagers.)

Simon has lost his own shirt as well and Baz keeps kissing every freckle and mole he can find. 

Just like he promised to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beyond grateful for your comment! They make my days immensely better!  
Thank you so much for reading and enjoying this fic!


	14. Where we stand

Baz always dreamt of having Simon wake up in his arms, curls messy from sleeping and his voice still a little hoarse. He dreamt of watching him sleep for a bit, then waking him up with soft kisses. 

He does wake up before Simon. But Simon has definitely not been sleeping in his arms. Baz carefully frees one of his arms from Snow’s tight embrace and buries a hand in those messy curls. (He did that. Messing them up like this the night before. He wonders if he accidentally hurt Simon as he was tearing at them, although he tried not to be too harsh.)

“You’re watching me sleep again,” Simon mutters, glancing at Baz through his lashes. And fuck, it’s so hot and adorable at the same time. Baz wonders how he does it. 

“How could I not?” 

Simon smiles and pushes his head against Baz’ hand. “I don’t want you to marry some woman,” he mutters.

Baz blinks. “Well, I don’t want that either.”

“Can’t you just marry no one?”

“I… I don’t think my grandmother would agree.”

“Hm… more naive– can you marry _ me _?”

He raises an eyebrow at Snow. “Are you asking me to marry you?” 

Simon shrugs. “If that’s better than marrying a woman.”

“If that’s– fuck, Simon. _ Of course _ that’s better. It’s all I’ve dreamt of.” He buries his face in the pillow. “Was last night so good, yeah?”   
“Well, obviously.”

Baz grins a bit and Simon kisses him. 

“Good enough that I want it again and again, every time we see each other. I also want to kiss you. Let’s never stop kissing.”  
“You know that’s scientifically impossible,” Baz mutters, then Simon kisses him again.

“Shut up. Don’t tell me what’s possible and what isn’t.”

“Doesn’t Han say that?”

“Ouch. First of all, he says _ Never tell me the odds _, which, by the way, great quote on its own.”

Baz smiles and gently touches Simon’s nose. “Got it. You’re not Han.”

“Absolutely not. I always saw myself as Luke.” Simon winks at him, he actually winks, and Baz feels like it shouldn’t surprise him anymore after last night. 

“Mhh…. did you. Because you believe you’re The Chosen one, huh?”

“Well, you were the one calling me a Chosen One, so.” Simon laughs quietly and he buries his face at Baz chest as he does it. For a moment Baz is worried he’ll notice how fast his heart is beating, but then he remembers that it doesn’t matter. Because Simon likes him too. 

(He made that very clear last night.) Baz skin still tingles with the sensation of his lips. He can’t quite believe it really happened. It feels unreal now, in the light of the day.

“Maybe we should get dressed, so we can grab breakfast,” Simon mumbles and Baz looks at him fondly. Of course he wants to eat. How could he have expected anything different? 

“Please don’t look at me like that. It’s like you’re about to attack me.” Simon frowns and Baz huffs and kisses him right there on his forehead. 

“No. I just love you, that’s all. No need to be scared.”

Simon smiles and sits up in the bed, stretching. The blanket slips off his body and Baz allows himself to take it all in. The freckles and moles and the red patches of skin where he kissed him last night. He smiles and reaches out, touching Simon’s stomach. “I do really, really love you.”

“And I love you more than I ever thought I would.” Simon grins and leans down, kissing his nose. Then he gets up, pulling the blanket with him and Baz yelps as he tries to grab a corner to cover himself. 

Simon laughs and turns around, looking at him. “There’s nothing I haven’t seen yet. I’m taking a shower.” 

Baz watches him, pulling the blanket back and Simon vanishes into the bathroom in all his naked glory. 

  
  


The next time they meet, they’re in France. Simon found out that Ebb’s brother Nico lives there, so Baz managed to make up another charity event and they attend the event the first afternoon they arrive there. They decide to find and talk to Nico the next day, which gives them a night to enjoy, even though it might be complicated to handle since both Fiona and Ebb are there to keep an eye on them. 

Simon sneaks into his room late at night after Ebb stopped bothering him, as he says, and they don’t waste a minute talking. 

Baz knows he’s in love by the way his heart beats faster when Simon touches him. He knows because he’s certain he’d do pretty much anything to enjoy this for as long as he can. If he has to marry someday—and he knows he has to—then he wants to keep this in his memories to think back to. He wants to be able to remember what they’ve had. How Simon smiles at him like he’s the only thing that matters, or how he trails his fingers over Baz’ body in utter fascination. 

It’s like every time they kiss, Simon treats it like it’s the best kiss he’s ever had, and he does it with most of the things they do. Maybe it’s silly, but Baz absolutely lives for it. Simon really makes him feel special with everything they do.

“Are you nervous because of tomorrow?,” Simon whispers against his collarbone. He has his head rested against the crook of Baz’ neck and his fingers are lazily grazing Baz’ ribs. It’s so good. 

Baz shifts a bit and adjusts his arm, sprawling it over Simon’s back. “No. Why should I be?”

“Because we might figure out something new.” Simon’s breath tickles and Baz smiles despite the topic.

“We might. But I don’t really care about it right now. I’m just happy you’re here with me.”

“Mhh… of course I am. Hard not to be when I have the chance.”

Baz wakes up in Simon’s arms again and he really wants to wake up next to him for the rest of his life. Maybe they can run away and live together somewhere where no one knows them. 

“Stop frowning,” Simon mutters and gently rubs his fingers over Baz’ forehead to smooth out the wrinkles. Baz didn’t realise he’s been frowning. “What are you thinking about?”

“Running away.” There’s no point lying about it. It’s unrealistic and won’t happen anyway, he can daydream about it. 

“That would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Simon presses his nose into Baz’ cheek and Baz closes his eyes and smiles. He absolutely loves all the bits of body contact Simon initiates. He really does seem to be bolder now. More confident with his sexuality. 

“I mean, once my parents are no longer president, I will be mostly out of the public focus, but you… you’ll be stuck in royalty forever, huh?”

“Unfortunately,” Baz mumbles. It would be more bearable with Simon by his side.

Simon grins and kisses Baz. 

“Hi,” Baz mutters and smiles at him. 

“Hey.”

“Baz? Are you still asleep?”

“Oh, fuck–” Baz sits up and rubs his face. “Get up, get up.” 

Simon chuckles quietly and kisses his jaw. 

“Snow, I’d love to continue this, but you need to go and hide,” Baz hisses and shoves him out of the bed. Simon giggles and Baz climbs out of the bed and helps him up from the floor. “Christ, be quiet.” 

“Where do you suggest I go?,” Simon asks, and he’s looking at Baz with such fondness that Baz can’t help but kiss him again.

“Get in there.” He gently pushes him into the closet and Simon laughs quietly, so Baz throws his clothes in behind him. He manages to throw himself back on the bed and to pull the blanket over his body before Fiona steps into the room.

“That’s a violation of privacy, you know? It’s not like I’m going to die in here.”

“You didn’t answer and you’re already late for breakfast. Didn’t you want to take Salisbury out at eleven? We’ve got you a driver, but you’ll miss it if you don’t get up soon.”

“Yes. I was about to get up, don’t worry.” 

There’s a faint rumbling and a second later, Simon stumbles out of the closet, dressed in nothing but boxershorts and Baz’ tennis shirt. (He packed it for a more casual style, in case he needs to.) 

“Salisbury,” Fiona says, considering him with a dismissive glance. “Ebb’s been looking for you everywhere. We thought you might’ve been abducted.”

“Oh, please, no one would abduct him voluntarily,” Baz sneers and earns an offended look from Simon.

“That’s what I told her too. May I ask, however, what the First Son of the United States is doing in your closet?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I was just… checking out his clothes.” Simon laughs nervously and lifts the tennis shirt a little as if to prove his point. 

“Please get dressed and then I’ll have you sign a NDA and you’re going to grab breakfast.” 

“We don’t need to sign a NDA,” Simon argues and Baz carefully gets out of the bed with the blanket wrapped around his waist. 

“Yeah, no, we’re fine.” He waves his hand at Fiona. “See you at breakfast.” 

Fiona considers them with a look and Baz is pretty sure it translates to _ does it have to be Salisbury, of all people? _

To avoid the awkward breakfast, they just grab something to eat and eat it in the car together. It was a challenge to convince Simon to take off his tennis shirt (and Baz didn’t quite want to, because it looked rather good on Simon) and then a challenge to stop kissing once they were out of the room. 

They find Nico Petty in a dirty bar that Baz usually wouldn’t have visited voluntarily. It was a little bit of work to figure out where he is from both Fiona and Ebb—especially because neither of them really wanted to talk about Nico. They’ve moved on or something. 

He’s sitting in the far back, smoking a cigarette. There are a few empty bottles of beer standing next to his table, and maybe that’ll work out in their favour. Maybe he’s tipsy enough to not quite understand what they’re trying to find out. 

Baz acts more confident than he actually is, mainly because this is a shitty bar and he’s afraid anyone will recognize him or Simon. 

They reach Nico’s table and Baz slides down on the bench as if he’s expected. Simon sits down next to him, a little less confident, and their knees bump under the table. It’s comforting. 

“We’ve come to talk about Natasha Grimm-Pitch,” Baz says quietly enough for only Nico to hear. Admittedly, Baz can see what his aunt saw in him. If he imagines him a bit younger, a bit more handsome, with more life in his eyes, yes, he can absolutely see it. He also sees a slight resemblance to Ebb, if she had been rougher and through more stuff, a darker version of herself, maybe. Simon must’ve noticed it too, because he can’t keep his eyes off Nico.

“Ah. You’re her spoiled brat of a son, aren’t ya?” Nico blows some smoke into their direction and Simon grimaces. 

Baz doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. This might be someone who is responsible for his mother’s death. He’s not going to give him anything.

“And you must be Davy’s little brat,” Nico continues, watching Simon with interest. Baz can feel him shift uncomfortably under the gaze and clears his throat. 

“Never would I have thought you’d work together.” His breath reeks of alcohol and smoke and Baz forces himself to keep a blank expression. 

“What do you know about my mother’s death?”

“Same as everyone else. It was a car accident. Do you really believe, that if there was a murder, your security wouldn’t have already figured it out years ago? It makes absolutely no sense to uncover a murder after eleven years. You’re too late, boys.” 

“So you know something,” Simon says and looks at him. Nico holds his glance for a second, then looks back at Baz. 

“I knew your mother well. She was not the person you believe her to be.” 

“Because she disagreed with your relationship to her sister?” Baz crosses his arms on the table.

“Oh, that was simply inconvenient. I didn’t expect her to condone it. I didn’t expect the relationship to last, either.” 

Baz feels anger build up in himself, and then Simon’s hand is on his thigh and Baz forces himself to calm down. Simon is there. Nico is probably lying.

“What is it, then?”

“My boy.” Nico quenches his cigarette, watching the smoke trail up slowly.

“Don’t call me that,” Baz hisses.

“Fine. Your mother was… revolutionary. She wanted big changes and power. She had, without question, many enemies.”

“And were you one of them?,” Simon aks, leaning closer. He looks so badass in this moment, so intimidating. Baz puts his hand on Simon’s, that’s still resting on his knee. 

“I’d like to say no. Because I could not have cared less about England. What she planned to do, or not. I simply disliked her for dismissing my wishes concerning her sister.” 

Simon nods. “Well, another topic then. I hear you’ve known my father.”

Nico nods shortly, then takes a gulp of his beer. “That is true, yes.” 

“You’ve spent a lot of time together.”

“Yes. We did. We got along mainly because my sister and his wife spent time together.”

Simon grins a little now, like a hungry wolf, and it makes Baz feel fuzzy inside. Simon is _ so cool. _

“You continued to hang out even after you started to isolate yourself. When did you stop spending time with him?” 

“I suppose in July or August after I lost contact to Fiona?”

“You work at a car shop, still?”

“Yes. I love cars. I’m an expert on cars. And I’m glad we’re changing the topic.” 

Simon smiles pleased and Baz isn’t sure what he’s playing now, but they don’t return to talking about his mother. Maybe that’s better.

As always with Simon, time passes way quicker than Baz would’ve liked it to. Sooner than he’d wanted, they’re saying goodbye at the airport—they can’t even kiss goodbye because of the photographers around. 

**Where we stand**

**Simon **<simonsalisbury@salisbury45.com>

to B

Dear Baz,

I love you a lot. It’s almost October now, it’s time we meet again. Letting you go is always the worst. Seeing you leave is so hard. I miss your touch the moment we have to bring distance between us. I miss your kisses. It’s absolutely time for us to come up with a reason to meet.

I’ve compiled all of the information we have so far; apologies for not being more romantic right now. I’m tired, I stayed up all night to do this. (I wasn’t able to sleep anyways, don’t worry.)

Here’s what we know:

  * Natasha died in June 2009 in a car accident
  * Davy was running for president in 2008; he was not elected
  * Fiona and Nico were dating until 2008/2009
  * Nico is Ebb’s brother and spent a lot of time with Davy 2008/2009
  * Lucy’s brother/my uncle never liked Davy or your mother 
  * Natasha didn’t approve of Fiona and Nico’s relationship (not sure if it’s a good motive)
  * Nico didn’t care about England or my mother
  * Nico and Fiona lost contact in approximately April/May 2009
  * Nico and Ebb lost contact a little before Natasha died (June 2009)
  * Nico and Davy lost contact in July or August 2009
  * Fiona believes Davy is responsible for your mother’s death for whatever reason

I’m not sure whether or not writing this down helped me understand everything better. Maybe it’ll help you more. Please do let me know.

I love you so much, you can’t imagine. It’s like everything’s made of gasoline and you lit a match and now it’s all on fire. But in a good way. (The metaphor sounded much better in my head, I will totally blame it on being tired.) 

Dog-tired and ready to sleep all day, your love Simon

  
  


**Re: Where we stand**

**B **<tbgp@kensingtonemail.com>

to Simon

Snow,

I feel like there’s something we’re not seeing. One piece of the puzzle is missing and I just cannot seem to figure it out. What if it hasn’t been murder after all? What if she really just died in a car accident and everything else was a coincidence?

I’m tired, too. My grandmother has started to suggest girls to marry and I’m just not interested. (Obviously. I’m gay. I want to yell at them. I want them to know that I don’t care about marrying a woman and that I’m into boys and only boys and there’s absolutely nothing they can do about it.)

But maybe your uncle is the one missing piece after all. We’ll go with that for now. 

Simon, darling. That metaphor is a beautiful one, but your way of expressing it clearly doesn’t live up to it. The thought counts though, and the thought was the sweetest. 

I miss you too. I’m going to call you once I’m home in a few days, you know, these official trips are nice and all when I can meet you, but otherwise they just make me miss you.

In love, Baz

  
  


**Re: Re: Where we stand**

**Simon **<simonsalisbury@salisbury45.com>

to B

Dear Baz,

things have changed. I talked to my father and my uncle. (Separately.) 

My father—to no one's surprise—dismissed me and didn’t have time to answer my questions. I’m not sure why I even tried…

But my uncle actually turned out to be really helpful. I’m not sure why or how he got them, but he gave me a few documents (attached) and told me what he remembered from that time. 

Here’s what I noted:

  * my father was involved in illegal tax evasion and basically funded most of his election campaign illegally
  * (not sure how he’s doing it this time)
  * your mother knew about it and she threatened to talk about it (that’s what my uncle says)
  * according to the documents my father was involved in lots of more illegal stuff (I’m not sure if I want to believe it)
  * Nico was involved as well, so I figure that’s an explanation for why they kept hanging out?
  * the only thing that just absolutely doesn’t fit in is the fact that your mother died in 2009, which is after the election? 

I miss you more every day. It sucks that you can’t just marry a man. Maybe your mother was right wanting to change some things in the monarchy. It is a totally outdated concept after all. 

We should just run away together. I’m sure Micah would support that plan, he’d probably help us. Create some huge distraction as I rescue you from the palace and then we’re gone. 

Wouldn’t that be the dream? 

Loving and missing you dearly, Simon

  
  


**Re: Re: Re: Where we stand**

**B **<tbgp@kensingtonemail.com>

to Simon

I think I figured it out.

Okay, Simon, read carefully now, because my thoughts are all over the place and I’m just desperately hoping it makes any sense at all. 

My mother died in a car accident. I read through the protocols and all the information available to me again, and again. It wasn’t something too unusual, anyone could’ve had that accident. Except, it was my mother, who was already married to the heir of the Crown and had two children. (Which is not important.)

Anyway, why on earth would she drive around at night? All alone? We do have chauffeurs and security. Usually she should not have been doing that. 

Now it’s also important to note that Nico has worked with cars and therefore likely knows how to cause a car accident and how to cause one that looks very normal and unsuspicious. 

He must’ve known that she’d be out there all alone, perhaps they even made sure she’d be? 

My point is, she was deliberately killed in that car accident and I’m rather certain it was Nico.

Now hear me out, even though I know you won’t want to read this, but: 

Nico and your father have been close over that whole timespan. We thought it was suspicious before, how about now?

All we’re lacking now is a motive and why it happened after the election and not before. But I suppose revenge. Maybe she was once again about to spill some secret information to the crown. Or she had more information than we know she did.

It’s not easy to talk about my mother’s murder as if it’s a fun story we figured out together and to think your father might have been involved and that she was killed because of some stupid information, just because a white man couldn’t risk to lose his face—it makes me sick. 

I’m so sorry he is your father, but I want you to know—although I know you won’t believe me—that does not define you. 

Yes, he is your father, but that doesn’t say _ anything _ about who you are. I’m going to call you and I’m going to tell you that until you believe it as much as I do.

Love, Baz

  
  


Baz calls him a few hours later, as soon as he has a bit of time. He needs Simon to know that while he has a grudge against his father, he doesn’t love Simon any less. If anything, he loves him more than he ever thought he could. 

“I don't– I don't like the conclusion you came to,” Simon says the moment he picks up. 

“I know. You don't have to.”

"It's hard enough to believe my father would do anything illegal..."   
"I know," Baz says gently. "It's not easy for me either, to believe someone could've hated my mother enough to kill her."   
"That's different." Simon's voice is more of a whisper and Baz can hear him move around.   
"I know. You know I don't care that he's your father?"   
"What do you mean? Are you going to act as if he's just some random guy?"   
"Well, don't you want me to?" Baz watches a bird walk on his windowsill, and then hopping off of it.   
"How can you be so... calm about it?," Simon asks confused. "My father killed your mother! Don't you mind? Aren't you _ scared _ ?"   
"Scared? Of your father? I don't think he'll kill me."   
"What if he does? Baz, I can't-- I can't lose you."   
"You won't, I promise. I still love you the same."   
"How can you?," Simon mutters. "He's my father."   
"Yes, he's not you. Okay?" Baz tries to sound firm, tries to make Simon believe it.

"And you still love me? Even though he's my father?"  
Baz smiles, although Simon can't see it. "Yes. Of course. I love you like crazy. Every day I wake up and I know you're there and you love me and I love you and every day I think this will end in flames. Because there's no way both of us are getting out of this alive."

  
  
  


And then, everything turns out to be much worse than any celebrity drama Baz has ever witnessed. 

Micah shows up at his door at ten in the evening, barely held back by some guards and he looks so messed up and exhausted, that Baz is convinced something absolutely horrible must’ve happened.

“Have you seen this?,” Micah asks, out of breath and holds out his phone to Baz.

He takes it and swallows, eyes skimming over the headline. Oh, no. 

No, no, no, _ no. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently trying (and sort of failing) to wrap up the last chapter without too many loose ends, but it's not going all too well.  
Still! I hope to upload it some when in the very near future (definitely before May ends) so yeah!  
For now, enjoy this little cliffhanger and don't get your hopes up too much. 
> 
> That being said, thank you so much for your comments! They really make my day.


	15. History Has Its Eyes On You

"We  _ need _ to go there!," Simon argues.    
Ebb sighs and rubs her forehead. "Simon, we need to deal with our own damage control."    
"Baz doesn't reply to my messages!" Simon slumps down. He's worried and tetchy. 

That morning, he woke up to his father yelling, possibly in a discussion with his mother, and he hasn't dared to meet them yet. He's scared of their reaction and he's scared of Baz' reaction. 

What if he doesn't want him anymore? What if now, that it's all out, they won't be allowed to meet any longer? 

He stares at the tablet that’s lying on the table in front of him, the headlines on the display seeming to mock him.    
_   
_ _ All about the First Son's emails with the Crown Prince of England _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Between murder and lust - read the emails between Prince Baz and First Son Simon _ _   
_ _   
_ _ What do the emails between Simon Salisbury and Basilton Grimm-Pitch reveal about their relationship and how do they change international relations? _ _   
_ _   
_ It's like the news are trying to tell him that he should have known. Of course their emails would be leaked. He should have known. He doesn't quite know why, but he figures they should've been more careful.

“I’m simply not sure if going there is the best idea, Simon,” Ebb tries carefully. He can see that she’s not happy about it. There’s a deep frown on her forehead and she keeps tapping on her tablet. 

“But I’m sure he wants to see me,” Simon argues, although he’s absolutely  _ not  _ sure. In fact, he’s kind of convinced Baz doesn’t want to see him at all. 

But he wants to see Baz and hug him, and perhaps kiss him, especially if it’s the last time they’ll ever be allowed to. 

“If he doesn’t reply to your messages?”

“He’s probably just busy!” Simon picks at the table. He doesn’t feel well. Ebb has immediately picked up on his insecurities about Baz not replying… 

“Besides,” Simon adds quieter, “I would like to see him. To see that he’s okay… this uh… this isn’t an easy situation and I’m sure we’d all benefit from talking face to face. Personally.” He glances at her and catches how she rolls her eyes, but he knows hes has won her over. It worked.    
  
"Fine," Ebb says and looks up from her tablet. "We'll fly there. I'll talk to your mother in a moment. Pack what you need."   
Simon perks up. "Ebb, you're the best!"    
Ebb sighs and gets up. "Don't be too happy. We don't know if they'll let us to Baz."   
Simon throws himself into her arms. "I don't care. Thank you."   
She sighs again, but Simon notices a slight smile. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."    
"Okay, the moment's over. I'll keep you updated." Ebb pushes him away gently and Simon grabs his phone.    
Baz hasn't answered. It doesn't surprise him, but he still hoped for something,  _ anything. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I'm coming over to see you. _

  
  


Simon doesn't expect Baz to answer to or even read his messages, but he keeps checking his phone for a reply anyways.   
  


"Simon, get down here!" 

The distant yell of his father’s voice snaps him out of his yearning and worry. 

Simon swallows. He absolutely doesn't want to. His father was already anything but supportive when he came out, and he won't be happy about him dating Baz.

For what it's worth, Simon doesn't think his mum will like it much, either. 

But she would discuss it civil, or perhaps attempt to understand. She would offer a solution or try to come up with one. 

Not his father– Simon wouldn’t admit it, but he’s frightened. He can’t quite tell why, it’s not like he expects his father to murder him. 

And perhaps that’s what his father would do–not murdering him, of course, but Simon should probably expect to get in trouble and be hit again, accidentally or not. 

He takes awfully long walking down the stairs. The only thing he can look forward to is seeing Baz in a few hours. And he can't miss the flight.

If he misses the flight, he’d wish for his father to kill him. 

No, that’s a little drastic. Simon sighs and tears at his hair. He doesn’t want to face his parents. Not now. Not yet. He wants to talk to Baz first, he wants to hold him and tell him they’ll figure it out, that it’s going to be okay. 

And he wants to be held and to be told the same. 

He just wants that comfort now, not a discussion with his parents. Not seeing his father. 

What if his father forbids him to see Baz? What if he doesn’t let him leave his room ever again? 

Simon freezes at the bottom of the stairs and aggressively bites his bottom lip. (Not the best idea if he wants to kiss Baz later, but he can’t help it right now.) 

If his father locks him in here, or worse, forbids him to see Baz ever again, then Simon wouldn’t know what to do. Would it even be a life worth living anymore? Or is he being too dramatic? But isn’t that exactly the plot of all tragedies? If two lovers cannot be together, they die. 

Simon absolutely cannot talk to his father. 

“Simon, my dear,” his mother says and Simon flinches, takes a step backwards and stumbles over the stairs. Lucy grabs his arm before he can hit the stairs back-first and pulls him back onto his feet. 

“Uh, sorry,” Simon mumbles, pulling his arm away. “I… father–” 

She sighs and steps aside, giving him space. It helps– Simon feels like he can breathe again. 

Which is absolutely ridiculous, because this is his mum and not his father. She would never hurt him. Not that his father would– except that he already has. Simon really needs to stop thinking about it.

“I– do you want to lecture me?,” he asks, pulling his shirt straight. 

“No– not now. Perhaps later. But now you have a flight to catch, don’t you?”

Simon nods, although hesitantly. “What about father?,” he asks, flinching again, as his father’s voice echoes through the halls. 

“I will talk to him. Get your stuff. Ebb’s waiting at the entrance.” She considers him with a concerned look and Simon feels like ducking away from her gaze.

“Thank you,” he mutters and slips past her, grabbing his jacket. 

“I love you, Simon,” Lucy says and Simon turns back, attempting to smile. She smiles back and he takes it as the sign to finally leave. 

A while later, he's on the plane, Ebb sitting across from him, and checks his phone again (–and again and again.)   
"Hasn't answered, huh?"    
Simon looks up and locks his phone (a force of habit), shaking his head. "No. I'm... I'm worried."   
  
Ebb nods and types on her phone. "I know. Let me try something.” She keeps typing mysteriously and Simon watches her with a frown. Then, she raises her phone to her ear. “Hello? Ah. Yes. Is Baz with you?"   
Simon keeps frowning at her, wondering who she’s talking to and if it’ll help. If she’ll get news. Perhaps Baz simply doesn’t want to talk to him. Perhaps he doesn’t want to talk to him ever again–

“Simon,” Ebb says quietly and holds out her phone to him. The caller is still on the phone and he reads who’s on the other end: Fiona.   
  
He lifts the phone to his ear, feeling a little sheepish when he asks for Baz first. "Baz?"   
"Snow. Simon. You've seen it."

Simon is relieved to hear Baz’ voice and not Fiona’s. He isn’t sure if he would’ve been able to deal with her just yet. Or if he would’ve been able to survive the embarrassment of asking for his boyfriend first instead of saying hello.    
"Yes... of course... it's shit. I'm coming."   
"What?" Baz sounds so tired. Simon wonders if he cried.   
"I'm coming," he repeats determined. "I'm on the plane right now. I'm coming."   
"No, you can't come. Simon, that's... not a good idea."   
"I want to see you," he argues, "I'm coming. It's too late now."   
Baz sighs and takes a shaking breath. So he did cry.    
"Okay... but they won't let you in. It's all shit, Simon." There's a pause and Simon worries that Baz might just start crying again. He won't be able to hug him and he hates it. He wishes they'd be faster.    
"I wish you were here," Baz says then, quiet.    
"I'm coming," Simon says firmly. "Don't worry. I'll be there soon."

Simon is fidgeting with the hem of his shirt when they're sitting in the car to the palace. He's scared. He wonders if he'll ever stop being scared.    
He clutches his phone in his hand and waits for a vibration. Any indication that Baz texted him. To calm him. To tell him he’s still alright.   
There's none, of course, and Simon stares out of the window.

  
  


Fiona opens the door for them before they can knock. She glares at Simon as if it's all his fault, and he bites his lip and looks away. He can't deal with it now. He just wants to see Baz.   
  
"Fiona," Ebb says gently. "It's not his fault. Can we come in?"   
"This way."   
  
Fiona probably likes him even less than before and it's not the best feeling. He hopes Baz doesn't hate him as well.   
  
They step into a room and Simon remembers it. He's been here before, back when they started investigating the murder of Natasha. Baz is sitting at the piano, playing aggressively. It takes Simon a moment until he recognizes the song: The Show Must Go On.   
  
"He's done nothing else all day," Micah says, suddenly appearing beside Simon. He looks at him, eyebrows twisted in worry as he watches Baz.    
Simon is glad to see Micah. He's glad to hear he's been there for Baz when Simon couldn't.

He nods and mumbles a "Thank you" to Micah. 

Then Simon slowly approaches Baz. He doesn't want to interrupt him playing or scare him by making sudden movements. 

Baz doesn't look up. He keeps playing and he punches the keys in a way that even Simon knows is too harsh.

"You'll hurt yourself," he says gently and sits down at the edge of the piano chair right next to Baz. 

Baz looks up but doesn't stop playing and Simon watches his fingers fly over the piano keys in awe. He's playing softer now, maybe because Simon is there or because their knees bump together. 

"You're here," Baz mutters and he slowly stops playing. There's an echo of the last note and Simon smiles at him. 

There's a moment of peaceful silence as if everyone in the room let out a relieved breath about Baz talking again.

"I told you I'd come," Simon cuts through the silence, quietly. It's just for Baz. 

"I didn't think you really would."

"Well, I'm here now."

"Yes." Baz smiles lightly. "You are. I wish it was under different circumstances..." 

"Me too." Simon sighs and Baz drops his hands into his lap. "But we can't change it now, can we?"

"Your father?"

Simon shrugs and takes one of Baz' hands, absently running his fingers over it. "I left before I saw him today. I tried to avoid them. It was already loud enough, I didn't want him to yell at me too."

"They're angry." Simon doesn't look up when he nods. 

"And you?," he asks carefully. He's afraid of the answer, although he wouldn't admit it. "Are you angry, too?"

Simon can feel Baz' eyes on him and he doesn't mind. There are worse things than being watched by your boyfriend in front of others.

"No. I'm just scared." 

Finally, Simon lifts his head and dares to lock eyes with Baz. "I'm scared too." 

"I'm glad I'm not alone in this." 

Simon smiles weakly and lets his head fall forward. It meets Baz' chest and Baz puts a hand on the back of Simon's head. 

"And I'm glad you're here," Baz goes on. "It would be much harder to go through if you weren't."

"I won't go home," Simon mumbles determined. "I'll stay here. For as long as you'd let me."

He feels Baz laugh quietly, feels the rising of his chest. "I would do it. I would pack you into my suitcase and fly away with you. Somewhere where it's just you and me," he mutters.

There’s another stifled laugh from Baz. 

Simon wonders if anyone expects something from them. Should they be making plans? Should they release an official statement? Or talk to Baz’ family? 

He decides that it doesn't matter. As long as they leave them alone, there’s nothing urgent they have to deal with.

“Hey,” Micah says after a while. “You guys should look at this.” 

Simon turns around to where he’s sitting on the couch, tapping wildly on his phone. 

“What?”

“There’s like a bunch of posts about you. Simon and Baz is trending, as a hashtag. And #royalaffair. I’ve come across a few screenshots of your emails, highlighting some of your super sappy quotes too.” Micah tilts his head as he continues scrolling. “Pictures of all your meetings. You’ve had shippers before, but the amount of supportive posts all over the internet right now is incredible.”

Simon frowns. Shippers? What does that even mean? He’s pretty sure he’s heard Penny talk about it before, but he doesn’t quite remember in which context.

“What about the negative reactions?,” Baz asks tonelessly. 

Micah pauses. “Well, there are a few, but… they’re totally being drowned out. Most of the youth and younger generation, or well,  _ our _ generation– they’re all rooting for you.” 

Simon looks back at Baz, smiling. “That’s good news, you know?”

Baz scoffs quietly. “Yes, but it’s still horrible. They weren’t supposed to know.”

“Well, we’re past that point,” Micah says dryly, holding Baz’ glare. “It happened. Now we have to deal with it.”

_ “You  _ don’t have to deal with anything,” Baz snaps. “Because  _ you  _ aren’t even involved!” 

“Baz–” Simon raises his hand, but Baz ignores him.

“This is all on me and Snow, and we’re the ones who have to deal with the aftermath and whatever the fuck our families decide is appropriate damage control. We might not even be able to see each other again, but that does  _ not  _ involve you, at all! You’re not the one having these problems,  _ we are.” _

“Baz,” Simon says again and rests his hand on Baz’ arm. “He didn’t mean to be insensitive.” 

Micah sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Simon’s right, I didn’t quite consider your feelings. I know this is a hard situation and I don’t– I’m in no position to know what you’re feeling.” 

“Right,” Baz mutters, as if all fighting spirit has left him again. “Okay.” 

Fiona gently knocks on the doorframe to announce her presence. “Her Majesty will see you now.” 

Simon swallows. Well. That is just wonderful, isn’t it? Especially with his tendency to zone out. Just great. 

Baz squeezes his hand and then  _ let’s go,  _ which only further feeds into Simon’s upcoming feelings of anxiety. 

But Ebb is there and she gently rests her hand on his shoulder. It’s gonna be okay, he thinks. Ebb would fight for him and she’d help him find the right words when he struggled to do so. Simon was sure of it and it made him feel a bit better, a little safer. 

Even though Fiona was still looking at him like all of it was his fault. 

The Queen is incredibly intimidating to see in real life. she has this weird presence, a little bit like his mother. But the Queen is much older and Simon suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that she is not only the Queen, but also Baz’  _ grandmother.  _ It’s a bit hilarious to think about. Simon bites his lip to stifle a laugh. It wouldn’t be a great first impression to laugh at the Queen the first time he meets her in person. 

She takes a deep breath and gestures for them to sit down. Simon is surprised by Baz resemblance to her, not quite when it comes to his looks, but more so in the way they carry themselves or well, this sort of annoyed yet sophisticated hand gesture. 

Simon sits between Baz and Ebb and politely accepts the cup of tea a butler is handing him. He does hope their talk would not be overheard by said butler, because he’s already afraid enough to embarrass himself in front of the Queen.

Who is also Baz’ grandmother. Right. If he keeps reminding himself of that fact, it might be easier to deal with. (At least he hopes so.) 

He feels her eyes on him and sits up straighter, but he doesn’t dare to meet her piercing gaze. 

“So. Where do we start?” 

Simon bites his lip and stares into his cup of tea. He’s too afraid to take a sip, it would probably be rude to do so, and he doesn’t want to burn his tongue. (That would be incredibly embarrassing. He doesn’t need that right now.)

No one speaks up. Simon figures they aren’t supposed to. And he’d rather spend the whole meeting in silence than talking back. Just in case.

“I suppose you’re aware of the scandal you have caused?” Simon wants to sink back into the chair at the disapproving tone in her voice. Or better yet, run away entirely.

He glances at Baz, who’s staring at the table, face wrinkled in his attempt to remain calm. 

“It does not paint a very flattering picture of everything that has been going on. Especially your little attempt at playing detectives.”

Simon is suddenly glad he decided not to drink his tea, because he would have choked on it. There is something so derogatory in her tone, that he feels young and naive again, as if he’d been getting in trouble and his father was chewing him out because of it. He clasps the cup with both hands, trying to focus on what was being said, but he couldn’t seem to. 

Small ripples travel through his tea, threatening to spill over. It’s exactly what Simon feels like. And at the same time, he feels so empty. So hopeless.

The Queen could forbid them to see each other ever again and he doesn’t have a single chance to argue it. The thought scares him, and Simon knows it would be a good idea to get his focus out of his thoughts and back on the conversation. Thinking himself into worry wouldn’t do him any good now. 

“No one will investigate the case,” the Queen says, her voice offering no room to protest. “It was a car-accident. This isn’t some sort of story where every little thing is a piece of evidence, or part of a conspiracy theory. This is reality– as hard as it may seem for you to understand, but your mother is dead, Basilton. She is dead and she won’t come back, not even if you try to solve a murder that wasn’t a murder. It was an accident.”

Baz grits his teeth and he doesn’t look at his grandmother. His hands are still clasped and resting on the table and it gives Simon a great view on how his knuckles turn white with the force of keeping it together. He knows the phenomenon. When you desperately want to talk back, when you want to argue, to defend yourself, but you  _ can’t. _

Adults don’t play by the rules. Or perhaps they do, but they also make up new rules as they go. There’s never a chance to win against them. Simon had to learn it the hard way, because he makes the same mistake three or four times before he realises that the rules are twisted and they’re only there to get him. 

His father has only ever played by his own rules. Simon never stood a chance of winning in the first place, no matter how hard he tried.

And, he thinks to himself, he really needs to stop thinking about this now. It’s not the time. This is about Baz. This is about them and the leaked emails, the problems they’re now facing.

“We will include that in the official statement,” Ebb nods and takes some notes. 

Simon gently nudges his foot against Baz’ leg in an attempt to calm him. Baz merely blinks and a frown travels over his face, before he pulls his mask back up. It’s the only indicator Simon has that he even felt it.

Baz’s grandmother takes a careful sip of her tea and Simon figures that’s the cue for him to try it as well. He regrets it almost instantly, when she speaks up again and he has to force himself not to cough.

“All of this unfortunate situation has made you look like you’re having a secret affair that hasn’t been condoned by anyone.”

“Which is the truth,” Baz says, looking up to meet his grandmother’s eyes. “I apologize if it brings shame on your name, but we didn’t necessarily have another choice.”

Fiona nods and taps her pen against the table. “That’s why we need more damage control. We can’t let this look like some sort of scandalous fling.” 

The Queen considers them both for a moment. “You’re thinking of something.”

“Yes,” Fiona confirms and sits up. “I have already discussed this matter with Malcolm earlier today.”

Huh, Simon thinks, bringing the Queen’s son into it to hope for approval. Not a bad tatic. 

“We agree that their relationship has to be official. Something that we all agree with. We don’t want the public to think that there’s any sort of disapproval from us now that we know the truth.” 

“It would not make us look good,” Ebb agrees. “So we took a few things in consideration and came up with a plan similar to the initial damage control after the wedding. Without all of the lying parts, though.” 

Simon looks between the two of them and he notices the way they exchange smiles and glances, nodding to each other. They have clearly talked about this in depth. 

“We can make Simon an official suitor and treat the whole situation differently. It doesn’t have to be a scandal.” 

Fiona nods in agreement, as Ebb goes on where she left of. “Depending on how we integrate this into put narrative, we can take this as an intrusion upon our privacy. 

Baz’ grandmother is thinking about it, seriously considering it, and Simon’s thoughts are still caught up on the fact that they talked about making him an official suior.

Which means he’d get to marry Baz. 

“It would mean agreeing with the lifestyle they chose,” the Queen says eventually and Baz twitches his fingers. Simon desperately wants to reach out, but he doesn't. Not yet. 

“The lifestyle I chose is who I am,” Baz says, meeting his grandmother’s eyes with a challenge. “Anything else wouldn’t be me. It would be a life of lies. You cannot possibly consider forcing me into that again. Not now, that everything is out there already. There’s no point denying it. It would only make you look bad.”

She stares back at him and Simon is impressed by the way Baz squares his shoulders and doesn’t back down.

“Times are changing, Gran. Having a gay Crown Prince shouldn’t be a scandal. Please. Allow me to be myself.” His face changes a little, there is a hint of hope in his eyes and veryy deep down there’s  _ fear. _

Simon gets it. He’s scared, too.

Something shifts in the expression of the Queen. She cares about Baz. She cares about his life and happiness and Simon can see it, bared open on her face, in her eyes, just for a moment before she addresses Fiona.

“Very well. I will leave the details of the statement in your hands. Do not disappoint me. I consent to an engagement as damage control and I trust you to tell this story in a manner that makes us look good.” 

She looks back at Baz and then at Simon and he shrinks a bit under her gaze. It’s still freaking intimidating.

“You are free to leave. I understand that this is not what you were hoping for, but all things considered I assume that we have come to an agreement that both sides can accept.”

Simon nods and gets up, offering a hesitant bow. Baz stands up too, now hiding his disappointment and anger behind a mask of indifference. 

“Thank you, Gran.”

“Oh, and another thing before you leave,” Baz’s grandmother speaks up and Simon freezes. He had hoped they were done. 

“I expect to see both of you for dinner later.” 

Baz swallows and when Simon looks at him, he avoids his glance. That dinner really couldn’t be that bad, could it? 

“Yes,” he tells his grandmother instead, then Baz grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room energetically. Okay, then.  _ Now  _ they are done.

  
  
  


“I can’t believe they’re not investigating it,” Baz says disbelieving and throws his hands in the air. 

“I know,” Simon says, face scrunched in thought. “Jake Peralta would never do this to us.”

Baz raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head a little. “Whoever that is.”

Simon’s glance snaps up. “You didn’t just say that.”

“I did.”

“How can you  _ not  _ know Jake Peralta? Brooklyn Nine-Nine? Have you never watched it?”

“No. Did you expect me to?”

Simon considers that for a moment, then shakes his head. Obviously not. Baz wouldn’t spend his days watching (excellent) American comedy when he could watch (absolutely boring) British Baking shows instead.

“It totally sucks,” Micah sighs and Simon looks at him. 

“Do  _ you  _ know Brooklyn Nine-Nine at least?” 

“I fail to see how that’s relevant,” Baz snaps and Simon flinches and turns around to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling sheepish and guilty for making jokes. This probably isn’t a situation for jokes. (Except that it kind of  _ is  _ the situation Simon would normally make jokes in–and normally, Baz would accept them, even if they’re bad.) 

Not this time. It’s probably too personal, Simon figures. He understands it. But what can they do? If the Queen and the President themselves say they cannot investigate it, do they have a chance to protest? Do they have any other choice than to accept their decision? 

“Is there nothing we can do?,” Penny asks, desperation edging her tone. She must have arrived while they were stuck in that meeting.

“No,” Micah says, he’s sounding quiet and regretful. They  _ did _ spend a lot of time trying to investigate it. Not that it was Simon’s plan in the first place, or that he ever agreed with it, but he hates unresolved things. He wants to get to the goal, he wants to feel like he has accomplished something with the work he’s done and now– 

Now he just feels empty. Helpless. Useless. All they did was waste their time, only to be told they should have stayed out of it. It’s not their business to snoop around old documents and tragic incidents. It wasn’t their place to try and uncover family secrets. 

They have done more bad than good. (Or so they’ve been told. Simon knows they’re still not adult-adults, but he also feels like they did treat them like kids when they are  _ not _ .)

Can they still solve this? 

He would do it. He would risk anything if it meant Baz smiled again. 

“Snow,” Baz says, kicking his shin. When Simon looks up, Baz is staring at him. Probably has been for a while now. Penny and Micah are still discussing, and Simon hears words like  _ unfair, unbelievable  _ and  _ sure.  _

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, as he sees the pain twisting Baz’ face. 

“Yeah?,” he asks quietly, nudging his foot against Baz’. 

“Let’s leave,” Baz mumbles. He’s been a little out of it since it all has been leaked, and Simon can’t blame him for it.

“Sure. Where to?” 

“Anywhere but here.” 

Simon follows him out of the room. No one tries to stop them, which is surprising but welcome. 

They wander off together, in absolute silence. It’s maybe the first time that the silence between them is uncomfortable and thick. It worries Simon. Not only that, it also scares him a little. 

Perhaps, he thinks, this is also kind of my fault. Perhaps he isn’t reacting correctly. Baz is probably mad at him. 

Baz sits down in his bed when they reach his room and Freddie rests his head on his thighs. Maybe Simon is a little jealous. 

He closes the door and then he just kind of stands there, in the middle of the room. He’s probably looking as awkward as he’s feeling.

Baz sighs, petting his dog, and then he looks at Simon and he just looks so incredibly  _ sad. _ Almost defeated. 

Simon hates it. He wants Baz to be happy again, right now, no matter the cost. 

He just wants things to get back to how they were before… 

“Come over here, Snow,” Baz mumbles. Simon watches him carefully and then he does, slowly stepping closer.

“Can I do anything?”

“Yeah. Sit down and.... be there, okay?”

Simon nods, slowly sinking down next to Baz. To his surprise–though he really shouldn’t be surprised–Baz leans his weight against him and sighs again. 

“I feel so weird,” Baz speaks up after a while in silence. (This time it felt less strained. More natural, like their silences usually feel.) “Like I’m not… myself. Like I’m dreaming. Some sort of twisted nightmare that I can’t help but stand by and watch. You know, those dreams that don’t feel like a nightmare but when you wake up, you realise how frightening and dark it really was.”

Simon looks at him and lifts his hand, then strokes through Baz’ hair. It’s longer than when they have last seen each other.

“I just can’t believe they’re not investigating it,” he mumbles. “That I have to go back to believing my mum died in a car crash. It just… feels so wrong.” He swallows and falls back on his bed. Simon turns to looks at him and he sees the tears glistering in Baz’ eyes. “It’s all wrong, Simon.” 

"I know," Simon mumbles. "I'm sorry. I wish things were… different." Easier? He doesn't know what he wishes. He feels like he doesn't know anything anymore.

"I just–" Baz bites his lip and stares at the ceiling. "I just want to know who would do such a thing! I can't believe  _ anyone  _ would. It seems so… criminal. So evil." He furrows his brows. "What does anyone gain from leaking our emails? Is it against us? Or against your parents? They're both campaigning." 

Simon slowly lies back next to him and looks at the ceiling. It's not as interesting as he thought from the intense staring Baz is doing. 

"Perhaps it's just to teach us a lesson," Simon suggests. Not that it really matters anymore. What are they going to do? More research? It has been forbidden and while Simon usually wouldn't mind breaking a few rules, he doesn't want to break his mother's rules. 

"You mean someone who just hates us? For what reason? I don't believe there's  _ nothing  _ behind it." 

"We can't do anything," Simon whispers and glances at Baz. He looks so angry.

"Don't you think I  _ know  _ that?" Baz runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands. "It will still haunt me. I will always wonder who's responsible for this, who ruined our life." 

"Baz," Simon says softly and reaches out, grabbing his hands and pulling them away from his hair. "I–" 

He what? What does he want to say? 

_ I am sorry? I wish it was different? I love you?  _

None of them seem to fit. Nothing seems to fit here. Simon is totally lost, he's at a loss for words. He doesn't know what to say, how to deal with this. Every little thing he says could totally break everything apart. It could ruin all of this.

It's the last thing Simon wants, so he stays quiet. It's okay, he tells himself. Perhaps they don't have to talk. Perhaps they'll understand each other without talking.

He thinks about how important communication is, but he cannot bring himself to speak up again. 

He's scared. He doesn't want to lose the fragile relationship they have. He doesn't want to lose Baz.

"I just want this to have an end. One that isn't…  _ this." _

Simon squeezes his hands. Waiting for him to go on. To explain what  _ this  _ is. 

"I…" It isn't like Baz to struggle for words. "I want this to have a satisfactory ending. Nothing open like this."

"You want things to be resolved," Simon nods.

Baz takes a deep breath, as if to channel his patience perhaps, or to calm himself down. Simon doesn’t know. Both imply that he’s annoyed with him, and he doesn’t want to think about it. 

“Yes,” Baz says then, and he turns his head, his eyes meeting Simon’s. “I want things to be resolved. I want this to be concluded. Like all things should be.”

“I know,” Simon mumbles, holding his gaze. It’s so intense, so close. He doesn’t know how to read Baz. He doesn’t know how they will go on now, after all of this. 

He does know that he’ll have to go home and face his father, and there’s no guarantee Baz will be there to piece him back together afterwards. 

“What will we do now, Snow?,” Baz asks quietly and his hand slips out of Simon’s and he buries his fingers in the blanket. “What will happen now?” 

“I suppose…” Simon shrugs, as well as he can lying on the bed. “I mean… probably all of the damage control your grandma was talking about–” 

“Please don’t call her that,” Baz protests weakly and Simon sees the faint smile on his lips. That’s definitely a success. 

“Fine, alright. Damage control, we have to uh… live with all of this unresolved shit–”

“Do you think they’ll make an episode about it?,” Baz asks, now grinning a little more. “On Buzzfeed Unsolved?” 

Simon can’t help but stare for a moment. He did not expect that. “Uhhh…”

“Heh,” Baz mumbles and leans in. “Caught you off guard, didn’t I?”

He kisses him and Simon closes his eyes, presses himself closer to get as much of Baz as he can. They’re kissing. This means things are going at least a little better than before, right? This means they’re on the right way, doesn’t it? 

Simon  _ knows  _ how important it is that they talk about all of this, that they communicate properly, but just as before he doesn’t want to risk it.

Except he has to. They can’t lie here kissing forever, no matter how nice it feels. 

“We should head back,” Simon says gently. “See if we can do anything. If there’s any news.” 

“Well,” Baz huffs. “We both know what will come. You’re going to have to go home and I’m left here and there’ll be a lot of official public statements we each have to give. That’s what they said.”

“The public seems positive,” Simon offers. “They like us. They like that we’re in love and doing our thing.” He sits up and pulls out his phone. “They’re supportive.”

“They just like the drama.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, we’re two gay guys and royalty, or famous. It’s just gossip for them. They’ll forget about it as soon as we’re no longer interesting. All the press cares about are scandals.”

Simon shrugs and looks at him, smiling lopsided. “Good thing that the First Son of the United States and the Crown Prince of England dating is a pretty big scandal, huh? And since we don’t intend to stop that anytime soon, I’m sure they’ll be interested for a little longer. And therefore supportive.”

Baz sighs and sits up slowly, treading his fingers through his hair. “That sounds almost logical. Are you alright, Snow? Since when are you smart?”

Simon grins at him and gently nudged him. “That’s no reason to be mean, but I’m glad you’re smiling again. Or something like it.”

Baz smiles at him then, and Simon leans in and kisses him.

  
  


“I cannot believe this is how our proposal goes,” Simon huffs as they walk down the hallway in the Palace. 

They’re heading back to Baz’ room (Simon is allowed to share the room, so he doesn't even have to sneak out secretly) after dinner, which was the most awkward thing Simon has ever experienced–and he had many very awkward dinners with his father. 

“I suppose it could be worse,” Baz offers, his hand squeezing Simon’s. “I also imagined it differently. Way more romantic, definitely.” He grimaces. “And, well, most importantly I always thought one of us would ask because we  _ wanted _ to get married. Not as some sort of damage control…” 

“I get that,” Simon sighs. “I kinda thought the same. I mean… I never really thought you’d even  _ want _ to marry me, so technically I never  _ actually _ thought about our wedding, so uh–”

Baz huffs. “Okay, I get it. But just know that I  _ do _ want to marry you. Most of the times, at least.”

Simon laughs and bumps his head into Baz’ shoulder. “I feel the same.”

There is something slightly eerie about things going back to normal after Simon’s visit to the palace. Well, they don’t  _ really  _ go back to normal, because things are never normal when you are the First Son of the United States, but they seem to be good enough. 

In fact, they could be so much worse. 

Simon was a little happy about how it had all turned out, despite not everything going their way. Actually, nothing really went by plan, but the outcome is still acceptable. Good, even. 

He is going to be married to the guy he fell in love with. Maybe not all too soon, but they are engaged. A promise for a promise. A promise to stay together.

If they managed this, they could manage everything else life would throw at them. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, at last. The final chapter. I hope it gives at least SOME closure.   
(It felt right and realistic to leave some things open, so I hope you can forgive me!)
> 
> Thank you so so much for taking the time to read this! Thank you for all the kudos and the bookmarks and the comments! You guys are making my day!


End file.
